My Life as a Sub
by ordlas
Summary: What was it like to be one of the fifteen? This is the story of a CG submissive, some time between Leila and Susannah. Graphic content.
1. The Arrangement

The email was in my inbox when I turned on my pc Monday morning.

From: MoTU-777  
Subject: Your submission  
Date: May 3 2010 04: 33  
To: frenchiebottom13

Ms. Thibodeaux,

I viewed your profile on the _SeattleLifestyleScene_ website and would like to explore the possibility of a short-term relationship. Should it become mutually satisfactory, there would be an option to extend the term.

Please reply to this email by the end of the day with a simple "yes" or "no," depending on your interest in this arrangement. If your answer is yes, then further instructions will be emailed to you. If your answer is no, I will not contact you again.

Please do not be alarmed at the fact that I know your real name. I am a powerful presence in Seattle's business community and have many means at my disposal. Rest assured that your identity is safe with me; I will not use my knowledge for illegal purposes. For reasons of discretion, I cannot reveal my identity to you until you have complied with certain formalities.

I await your response.

MoTU

What the fuck?! How the _hell_ did he find out my real name?! I am so very careful with my online presence. I never use the same email twice when posting on BDSM websites and never use my real name in the email settings. This is very unsettling, almost frightening, and I'm not someone who frightens easily.

And then the most bizarre thought occurs to me: OMFG, could this be Bill Gates!? Is Bill Gates in The Lifestyle? "Powerful presence in Seattle" and incredible technical resources – it all adds up.

Then the question becomes, do I want to sub for Bill Gates? I don't know. I've been active in the Lifestyle for the last seven or eight years and have subbed for some rather strange people. Strange kind of goes with territory in New Orleans, which is where I'm from.

I stare at the screen for what seems like hours but I know they're really only minutes. Finally, I hit "reply," type "yes," and hit "send." There, done. My decision has a calming effect and my thinking takes a more rational turn. There are many high-profile businessmen in Seattle's tech corridor and this could be any one of them. But now I'm dying to know if it really is Bill Gates.

Whoever it is must have been waiting for my reply, since there is an immediate response.

From: MoTU-777  
Subject: re: Your submission  
Date: May 3 2010 08: 12  
To: frenchiebottom13

Ms. Thibodeaux,

Thank you for your positive response.

At 3 p.m. today, please go to the Starbucks at 3rd and Pike. My aide, Mr. Taylor, will find you and give you your instructions. If you cannot be there at that time, send me a response with your preferred time, otherwise, do not respond to this email.

MoTU

Obviously Mr. Taylor has seen my profile picture so I won't have to bother with any cloak-and-dagger shit like I've sometimes had to do in the past. All that "wear a red blouse," "carry a copy of _War and Peace_," blah, blah, blah, it's just so fucking silly.

Since Mr. May-or-may-not-be-Bill-Gates knows my name, I don't doubt that he knows I'm a graduate student at UW's School of Social Work. It's also likely that he even knows my class schedule, which is why he knows he can schedule a 3 p.m. appointment today. This is just more evidence that there is no such thing as privacy in the digital age.

I have a cohort meeting at 11 that's done by 12:30; this gives me time to grab lunch at my place, then head downtown to the Starbucks. Parking can be a bitch there so I allow myself enough time to cruise for an on-street spot, even if it means I have to walk a couple blocks. The weather's nice so I don't mind walking and my mini Cooper will fit just about any size spot. I arrive at the Starbucks about twenty minutes to three, which is fine. I get myself a latte, take out my ereader, and settle in to wait for Mr. Taylor.

At 3 p.m. on the dot a tall, buzz-cut, well-dressed young man stands next to me and says, "Excuse me, Ms. Thibodeaux?" I look at up him and answer, "Yes. Mr. Taylor?" He replies politely, "Yes, ma'am. May I?" indicating the chair next to me. I reply, "Please do," and he seats himself.

He takes a document out of a large manila envelope he's carrying and hands it to me. "This is a non-disclosure agreement, Ms. Thibodeaux. You'll need to sign it before we can proceed further. I have an extra copy for you."

I peruse the document. I worked as a legal secretary in a small law office when I was an undergrad so while I'm not a lawyer, this seems like a fairly standard document, similar to many other NDAs I've seen before. I sign it, hand it to him, and take the copy.

He folds the signed NDA, puts it in a small envelope, puts that in his inside jacket pocket, and hands me the manila envelope. "Your further instructions are in the envelope, Ms. Thibodeaux. The information there is complete; however, should you have any questions, you will also find contact information. Thank you for your time." With that, he rises, pushes in his chair, and leaves the Starbucks.

Well, shit, if that's all there was to this, couldn't he have chosen a Starbucks closer to the UW campus? Did I really have to fucking drive all the way to downtown just to sign a fucking agreement and get some papers? These power brokers and their stupid games really annoy me sometimes.

It's times like these that I think it would be simpler just to cruise the clubs on weekends and take my chances with random Doms. But then I remember the close call I had back in NOLA…

"_So pretty, mon petit chou," he breaths in my ear, "so very pretty." He stands behind me with a collar in his hand and a leash attached to it; he rubs the collar against my skin from my throat down to my crotch and back again, slowly, slowly. When he's back up at my throat he fastens the collar and lets the leash trail down my bare back._

"_Do you like soft things against your skin, cherie?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Do you like hard things against your skin, cherie?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Oh, you will be so happy, yes, happy." He walks away and I hear him open the door and exit the room. A minute later I hear footsteps that I assume are his, but then I also hear a soft clip-clop. WTF?!_

_He steps in front of me, leading a fucking goat! How the fuck did he get that in here?_

"_Please meet my friend, Pierre. We will have a good time, the three of us, no?"_

_NOOOOOO! I don't fuck with animals! CHA – Consenting Human Adults! Only!_

"_RED!" I scream._

"_No, no, petit chou, we will not hurt the goat, we will have fun!"_

"_REEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDD!" I scream at the top of my lungs, "unshackle me you goat-fucking motherfucker, NOW!"_

"_Okay, okay, please do not scream so," he says as he starts removing the shackles._

I don't even remember gathering my clothes or leaving the place; I only know I never went back to the club scene in NOLA after that. I had a couple of contractual arrangements subsequently, but then Katrina hit, the area became a hellhole, and a year or so later I took a job in Seattle.

So I guess a drive downtown was not that big a deal in the whole scheme of things. I open the envelope and take out the documents. The first is a letter addressed to me.

Ms. Severine M. Thibodeaux  
1400 NE 45th St.  
Seattle, Washington 98105

May 3, 2010

Dear Ms. Thibodeaux,

Enclosed you will find a contract detailing the arrangement between you and me. Please review this document thoroughly. I will discuss it with you on Wednesday at 4 p.m. at my penthouse. Mr. Taylor will meet you in the lobby and escort you. Should you not be able to make this appointment please let me know by email as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Mr. Christian Grey  
301 Escala  
Seattle, Washington 98889

As I read the name under the signature, I'm flooded with relief that it isn't Bill Gates; that would have been just too weird. Then I try to remember what I know of Christian Grey. He is definitely a powerful presence in the Seattle business community but the scuttlebutt has always been that he's gay. I wonder - it's possible he bats from both sides of the plate. I'm sure I'll find out, although the thought of watching swordplay is not at all a turn-on for me; if he enjoys that, I hope he does it on his own time.

I turn my attention to the contract. A quick skim tells me that it's fairly standard, although this one is a little more elaborate. He seems to be a lot more controlling than the other Doms I've been with. Still, it seems fairly boilerplate so reviewing it should not take that long.

I gather everything up, get a latte to go, and head out to my car. On the drive back to my apartment I go over in my head the details we need to discuss: hard limits, soft limits, toys, etc. As I review these I feel the familiar tingle of anticipation. It's been over a month since my last Dom left for a job transfer back east. Since then it's been a frustrating search for someone compatible; some don't make it past the email stage, the rest have washed out after the first meeting.

Back home, I fix myself a small salad and pour a glass of wine; I find some Sibelius on my mp3 player and settle into my chair to study the contract in detail. As I thought, the body of the contract contains the usual terms common to many of my previous arrangements. The appendix is interesting; this guy likes to control _everything_. I've never had a Dom insist on a personal trainer or a list of foods; Master sounds like a real health nut. His hard limits mesh with mine but I will add fisting, genital clamps, hot wax, and maybe one or two other things.

My review of the contract finished, I need to do some internet research. Like most people in Seattle, the name is familiar to me, heard frequently on the news and seen in business articles. The photos I find show a man who's seriously good-looking and seriously rich but whose social life seems to be restricted to trade association and charity events. The only women he's pictured with are family, which is what probably fueled those gay rumors. Delving into his personal data, I find that he's about two years younger than me. That might explain the minimal social life – he's so young to have amassed the fortune he has, so obviously he's a workaholic. What I've seen so far makes me think that this arrangement just might happen.

Reading the contract and seeing his photos has me tingling again. I so hope this works out – I long to be under the control of a Dom once more. I've missed it; I _need_ it. I am now really looking forward to meeting him on Wednesday.


	2. Negotiation familiarization anticipation

My Wednesday schedule is somewhat full. I have a meeting with an advisor in the morning, followed by a cohort meeting, then lunch, and after that a class. I wore student gear for my academic activities but got my interview clothes ready so all I need is a quick shower and some light makeup. After dressing, I check myself in the mirror: stilettoes, navy blue pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and my hair up in a clip; it's all somewhat cliché but I think it'll do. I gather my purse and my bag containing the marked-up copy of the contract, and head out the door; let's go see what Mr. MoTU looks like up close and personal.

I drive back downtown but this time I pay to park; I don't want to have to walk far in stilettoes. I find Escala easily enough and time myself to enter the lobby at precisely 4 o'clock. Taylor is already waiting there; when he sees me he nods politely and says, "This way, please, Ms. Thibodeaux." I follow him into an elevator, he punches some numbers into a keypad, and we ride in silence to the top floor. The door opens to a vestibule area that is all white; the walls are filled with paintings and there's a table with a vase full of flowers on it. There's a set of double doors opposite the elevator and I follow Taylor as he heads for them.

We go through the doors into a wide corridor, then we enter another set of doors on the side. Before we go through these, I catch a glimpse of the living room, which looks immense and expensively decorated. I'm then led into what is definitely an office; the opposite wall is floor-to-ceiling glass and in front of it, sitting at a huge desk, is Christian Grey. The room is also huge and I'm reminded of what I heard about Mussolini's office – he purposely located his desk at the far end of a large room so that visitors would be reminded of his power by the long walk, or so the legend goes.

Taylor announces me while Grey stands up, then comes around the desk to greet me. He dismisses Taylor as I reach the desk; we shake hands and he asks me to take a seat. As he walks back to his chair, I take in his appearance; he's wearing black jeans and a white linen shirt. Even through his clothes I can tell he works out regularly; he's tall and moves with an easy grace. When he sits down I look at his face and for a brief moment I feel terrified in a way I've felt only once or twice in my life. The coldness in his grey eyes seems to almost reach out for my soul; my immediate thought is that this man has had incredible evil in his life, and it may still be there.

My feeling dissipates as he starts the conversation, "Thank you for meeting me, Ms. Thibodeaux. I trust you're ready to discuss the contract."

"I am," I reply as I reach into my bag for my copy. "There's nothing that's a problem in the basic contract and the rules, so I think we can skip right to the hard and soft limits."

"All right," he says, "so tell me what you'd like to change."

"First of all, fisting of any kind, genital clamps, and hot wax are hard limits for me." He nods, making notes on his copy of the contract. "What else?" he asks.

"Well," I start out, somewhat hesitantly, "this may sound strange but food consumption in the dungeon is a hard limit for me." He raises his eyebrows and I continue, "I had a bad experience with a Dom who had a food fetish. I'll spare you the details but I've added it as a hard limit to every arrangement I've had since then. And please add vomiting, too."

"Duly noted, Ms. Thibodeaux; it will be added to the contract. I'm sorry you had such a bad experience. Now regarding your pain tolerance, how would you rank yourself according to the scale in the contract?"

"Well, it says here that 1 is 'likes intensely' and 5 is 'dislikes intensely' so I would rank myself between 1 and 2." Ah yes, the familiar gleam appears in his eyes. Most Doms love a sub who enjoys a high level of pain.

"Thank you. That will also be noted in the contract. Is there anything else you'd like to add or change?"

"No, I think that about does it."

"Okay, then, let me explain what will happen next. The contract will be revised and Taylor will deliver it to your apartment tomorrow morning for you to sign. Tomorrow afternoon you'll visit the Pike Place Medical-Surgical Center and ask for the GEH battery of blood tests. They're ostensibly for employment at my firm but my HR department will forward the results directly to me; no one else will see them. Once I have those, I'll email you the results of _my_ blood tests. Friday morning at 9 you have an appointment at the Bellevue Esclava salon. When you give them your name they'll know what treatments to give you. Friday afternoon, I'll email you the passcodes you'll need. Friday at 5 p.m. you'll arrive here and we can start, after a brief orientation. Any questions?"

I shake my head and say, "no, I've got it."

"Good!" he says as he stands. "Now I think it's time for a little show-and-tell. We'll make a brief visit to my playroom, as I call it, and then I'll take you to what will be your facilities. Follow me, please."

I follow him out of the office and up some stairs. He unlocks a door and stands back to allow me to enter first, extending his hand to indicate that I do so. I walk in and he walks in behind me, then shuts the door. I stand and look around. My first glance tells me that this is the most expensive and best-appointed dungeon I have ever been in. No cost has been spared in outfitting this room. I start my tour by the door, checking out his collection of implements; there is the standard assortment of whips, floggers, etc., all very well made. Next is the whipping bench, with a rack of canes hanging on the wall next to it.

Grey is following me as I inspect everything. I walk over to the cross. I put my hands on two of the branches, hold tight, and give it several good, hard shakes, testing the wall anchors. The cross doesn't move an inch. "Something wrong, Ms. Thibodeaux?" he asks, as he faces me and gives me a puzzled look.

"Just wanted to see if it moves at all," I respond and when he looks at me askance, I feel I need to explain further. "I had some interesting experiences with movable crosses, Mr. Grey. One Dom had a cross that rotated so he could fuck me or eat me, according to his whim; a couple of times he rotated it so much I ended up vomiting. Another Dom had the same setup; at one session he couldn't make up his mind, so he kept going back and forth until suddenly the cross fell off its anchors and I went rolling across the dungeon floor. It came to a stop with me on my face; I had to go to the ER with a broken nose and facial lacerations."

At this point he snorts and tries to cover it up by coughing. I look him in the eye and we stare for a couple seconds, then we both break out in laughter. "I'm sorry," he says, "but that image was just too funny."

"That's okay," I tell him, "looking back on it, it does sound pretty funny. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase _laisser les bons temps rouler_!"

As I say that, his expression changes, and he seems to look at me with renewed interest.

"I meant to ask you, Ms. Thibodeaux, _est-ce que vous parlez français?_" _Do you speak French?_

"_Oui, plus ou moins. Vous aussi?" Yes, more or less. You, too?_

"_Oui, j'ai visité Paris pour quelques mois." Yes, I visited Paris for a few months._

"_Ah, c'est bon." That's nice._

"I think we'll have a good time together, Ms. Thibodeaux. Please continue your tour."

With that, I head towards the middle of the room where the gargantuan bed stands. It's an ornately-carved four poster with a canopy. The canopy, like the ceiling outside of it, is gridded with a collection of shackles, hooks, and carabiners. At the foot of the bed is a large chesterfield couch. My mind is imagining the possibilities and I'm feeling the tingle again. I continue on, examining the table in the far corner and taking note of the chest of drawers which I'm sure is the repository for toys. Everything in the room is made from authentic materials and exceptionally well hand-crafted. Mr. Grey takes his Dominant role very seriously.

As I walk back towards the door, he stands in front of me and says, "We have a little more showing and telling to do, Ms. Thibodeaux. We won't touch but I think we should part today with some visuals to help us anticipate Friday, don't you?"

Ah, yes, inspection time. I nod and wait for his direction.

"Take down your hair," he commands. I remove the clip that's holding it up, letting it cascade down my back and shoulders. I put the clip on the back of the couch; I shake my head and fluff it out so my hair is spread evenly.

"Very nice. Now take off your skirt." I unbutton and unzip my skirt, letting it fall to the floor, and step out of it. He gazes at me for several seconds with his arms crossed, one hand trailing his finger across his lips.

"Nice legs. Now take off your blouse." I slowly unbutton my blouse, take it off, and lay it across the back of the couch. He continues his gaze for several more seconds, eyeing me up and down.

"Close your eyes, Ms. Thibodeaux." I do so and hear him walk to the area where the implements hang. I hear him come back and walk slowly around me, once, twice, and then I hear a loud smack! He takes another walk around and I hear another smack! My guess is that he's using a whip and hitting the floor with it. My juices are flowing and I'm almost dizzy with anticipation.

He orders me to bend down and grab my ankles. I hear him slowly walk a third time around and then stop in front of me. I hear the whip drop, then a zipper, and after a few seconds he tells me, "Stand up and open your eyes."

I open them to find him standing with his huge, rock-hard dick in his hand and a lascivious grin on his face. "You like?" he asks, stroking himself slowly. I smile, nod, and lick my lips in response; he closes his eyes, obviously enjoying his thoughts.

"You have a fine body, Ms. Thibodeaux. I'm looking forward to having it under my control," he says as he opens his eyes. "You may get dressed." He puts himself back and zips up. I put on my blouse, get back in my skirt, and clip my hair.

"Let me show you the room you'll use while you're here," he continues as I follow him out of the playroom. He locks the door and I follow him down the hallway. He opens a door to a bedroom decorated in pure white. One wall is floor-to-ceiling glass with a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline. "You may keep whatever you want or need here," he says, "It's yours for the entire term of the contract."

"Thank you. This is beautiful," I tell him sincerely. I've never lived in such opulent surroundings.

"I think that completes our negotiation, Ms. Thibodeaux. Unless you have any further questions, I'll escort you to the elevator and look forward to seeing you at 5 p.m. on Friday."

I follow him out of the room and down the stairs. We go back to his office to retrieve my things and then continue to the vestibule. He calls the elevator and when it arrives, I shake his hand and thank him.

As the elevator door closes, I lean back and close my eyes, trying to absorb everything I've just seen. Christian Grey's dungeon, or playroom as he calls it, makes every other one I've been in look like a rundown trailer park.

On my ride home I mentally review the next couple of days: tomorrow morning, contract; tomorrow afternoon, blood tests; Friday morning, salon treatment; Friday afternoon, play time! As I said to him earlier, _laisser les bons temps rouler!_ Let the good times roll!


	3. Play time!

Back in my apartment, I change into some comfortable clothes and decide on a junk food binge for my last dinner before I sign the contract. I head out to the neighborhood pizzeria, where I have a small cheese and sausage pizza, and a glass of chianti. After that, I walk over to a nearby coffee shop for some chocolate chip cookies and a latte.

Leisurely strolling back home, I plan a sensual evening for myself. For at least three months, this will be my last opportunity for self-pleasure so I plan to take full advantage of it. I open a bottle of red wine and let it breathe on the cocktail table in the living room while I get everything else ready. First, a plate of cheese and crackers, then some Coltrane on the stereo. After throwing on a nightshirt, I slip a porn dvd into the player, turn on the TV, and mute the sound. I pour myself a glass of wine and settle back on the couch to relax.

Sipping on my wine and nibbling on cheese and crackers, I watch the bodies gyrate on screen. My thoughts turn to the afternoon's meeting. Forty-eight hours from now I will be in that wonderful dungeon, under the control of someone who undoubtedly sets the standard for male physical perfection. With those cold gray eyes, I expect he'll be an exceptionally harsh Master. That's fine – I can do harsh, I just can't do weird, like goat or food fetishes.

I slowly finish my wine and food, enjoying the action on the dvd. Between the alcohol and my randy thoughts, my juices are fully flowing so I head to bed for a session with Mr. V. It makes me wonder what sort of toys Master likes. I didn't check out the chest of drawers when I was in the dungeon but I expect I'll be pleasantly surprised.

The next morning, I awake rested after the previous night's indulgence, although I have a vague memory of dreams about cold gray eyes. I check my email and find that Taylor will deliver the contract at 9:30. There's plenty of time, so after a junk breakfast at McDonald's I come back and draw myself a nice warm bubble bath. Soaking in the tub, I enjoy some more lustful thoughts about the next three months, which lead me to make full use of Nemo, my waterproof vibrator.

After the bath, I throw on some clothes and work on my thesis while I wait for Taylor. As expected, he arrives promptly at 9:30, we go through the signing ritual, and he leaves. That's it – I now belong to Master for the next three months. It's a heady feeling.

There are only two other things on my schedule today: an appointment with my advisor at eleven and the blood draw, which I can do any time before the clinic closes but I decide to do that right after my meeting since on the way back I want to do grocery shopping for approved food. I don't have to get that much but I want to make sure I have something in the apartment for the rest of the time before the weekend and for when I get back.

The blood draw was no big deal except that they took five fucking vials. Master must be testing me for every disease known to man. I feel a little light-headed when I leave the clinic so I stop for dinner at a seafood restaurant nearby. After that, it's grocery shopping, then home to study and work some more on my thesis. The anticipation keeps building and I'm counting down the hours.

Friday morning is my appointment at Esclava so I head out to Bellevue. Having long hair, I don't go to salons that often and when I do, I'm more of a Supercuts kind of gal so I'm just a wee bit intimidated by this place. It is serious, over-the-top, expensive luxury. I give my name to the impeccably groomed receptionist and she gives me a brilliant smile. "Welcome, Ms. Thibodeaux. I'll call Ingrid, your hostess, and let her know you're here."

Only a few seconds after being summoned, Ingrid appears and leads me to a private room where she tells me what to expect. Apparently I'm getting the full treatment: shampoo, cut, and style for my hair; waxing and mani-pedi for my body; and hot stone massage for, I guess, my spirit. She points out the robe hanging from the back of the door and some slippers on the floor; then shows me where to put my clothes and purse. Hair is first, so Ingrid tells me that she'll bring my shampoo technician (!) in about five minutes. With that, she leaves me alone to get ready.

Everything will be done in the private room; obviously Esclava caters to a high-profile clientele who don't wish to see or be seen with commoners when having beauty treatments. Lida, my shampoo _technician_, washes and conditions my hair; when she's done she tells me that she'll let my stylist know that I'm ready. She leaves and a few minutes later, a tall, platinum-blonde, somewhat older woman enters the room. She introduces herself as Elena and, like the receptionist, flashes me a brilliant smile, but hers doesn't quite reach her eyes. Like everyone else on staff here, she's impeccably groomed and dressed in a uniform but hers is the only black one I've seen. She's also very well stacked.

Unlike the shampoo technician, who did her task in silence, Elena is rather chatty. She asks me all sorts of questions, many of them about my background. She's curious about my name and I tell her I'm named after a French singer that my mother likes. I get the unsettling feeling that I'm undergoing some sort of interview or inspection.

One thing she does not ask me is how I'd like my hair styled. She trims and blowdries it without any input from me. When she's done I look in the mirror and am a little shocked at what I see. She's kept it long but given it a few layers. The way she's combed it out gives me an almost emo look, which I'm really not used to. I assume she's working off instructions from Master so I guess this is what he likes.

Master must also like his women hairless, since the waxing includes full Brazilian, legs, and armpits. This is the annoying part of starting out with a new Dom – they each have different tastes in floor covering. Some like area rugs, some just little welcome mats, some bare wood floors; there was even one who liked wall-to-wall carpeting. I smile at the memory of that Dom; he could do some really kinky shit with all that pubic hair.

After the depilation I have the mani-pedi and then the massage. Three hours after my arrival I leave Esclava properly prepped for my weekend with Master. I'm feeling relaxed and tingly, all at the same time. On the drive home my head is full of delicious thoughts about what we might do in the playroom.

Back in my apartment, I check my emails and only see ones from friends or classmates. I fix a salad for lunch and do some schoolwork while I wait for Master's email. After lunch, I pack my overnight case, a fairly easy task since I probably won't be wearing much this weekend.

The email finally arrives around one o'clock. As usual, it's very concise; he's given me the keycodes for the underground garage and the elevator, as well as instructions on where to park. He also reminds me to arrive promptly at five. There's an attachment containing the results of his blood tests. I skim it, mostly out of curiosity as to what he's had me tested for; I'm sure his results are indicative of good health.

I try to concentrate on my thesis but it's hopeless – I'm just too restless. I still have a couple hours before I go so I do some yoga and meditation. This helps and by the time I leave, I'm fairly serene. I know the way and in spite of it being close to Friday rush hour, the traffic is not too bad. Parking occurs without incident and I'm riding the elevator like I did two days earlier.

When the elevator opens, Taylor is waiting in the foyer. "Welcome, Ms. Thibodeaux. Let me take your bag. Mr. Grey is expecting you. This way, please." He takes the handle of my rollerbag and leads me to the great room that I glimpsed my first time here.

"Mr. Grey, Ms. Thibodeaux is here," Taylor announces to Master, who is sitting on the sofa. Taylor turns to me and says, "I'll take your bag to your room." I smile and thank him, then turn to Master, who's approaching me. He takes my hand, kisses it very gallantly, and whispers, "_Bienvenue_, Severine. I'm looking forward to our time together." He smiles at me with lust and expectation in his eyes.

"Let me introduce you to Mrs. Jones, my housekeeper," he says as he leads me to the kitchen area. Mrs. Jones is a smartly-dressed, slightly older blonde; her smile is genuine and radiates warmth. Master continues, "Mrs. Jones will familiarize you with the routine here at Escala. After she's finished, we'll partake of the wonderful dinner she's prepared for us."

Master leaves and Mrs. Jones starts explaining to me all the mundane details I need to know. She's off on the weekends, so I'll be expected to cook for Master while I'm here. She does grocery shopping during the week so if there's anything special I'd like for her to get, I should leave her a note in the kitchen. She shows me the laundry facilities but tells me that I'll only need to use them for items that can't wait since she does laundry during the week also. She gives me a brief tour of the penthouse and hands me a set of two keys, one to my room and one to the playroom. That done, she brings me to Master's office and tells him she's done with orientation and will have our dinner ready in a few minutes.

He thanks her, she leaves, and he turns to me as I stand with my eyes to the floor. "You may look at me, Severine," he says. I gaze up at him and he continues, "Do you have any questions so far?" "No, sir," I respond.

"Good! There's a couple more things I need to tell you. First, here is your Blackberry. I need to be in contact with you at all times, so you will carry this with you for the term of the contract. It's your choice to forward your current phone to it or carry two devices.

"Next is the matter of your car. When you drive home Sunday night you'll be taking a brand-new Audi A3, which you'll drive all the time and which will be yours to keep at the end of the contract. If you wish, Taylor will sell your Mini Cooper; he's a good bargainer and will get a decent price for it. If you choose to keep it, you may not drive it. If I find out you've done so, you will be punished.

"Finally, I've scheduled daily sessions for you with my personal trainer, Claude Bastille. He will see you Monday through Thursday at 7 a.m. for one hour, starting this Monday. There will be no excuses for missing a session. Should you do so, you will be punished. He will send you an email regarding the place and what to wear and bring with you. Any questions?"

"No, sir," I respond.

"Well, then, let's go have some dinner." And we head back to the kitchen.

Mrs. Jones is gone but she's left a tasty dinner of chicken Marsala, wild rice, and Brussels sprouts. Master pours us each a glass of Sancerre and asks, "Is there any particular music you'd like to listen to while we dine, Severine?" "If Master has any Dave Brubeck, that would be lovely," I respond. He smiles and says, "As a matter of fact, we do." He fiddles with the iPod box on the fireplace and then I hear the strains of _Take Five_.

We eat in comfortable silence and when we're both finished, I take the plates and put them in the dishwasher. I then stand next to him with my eyes lowered, awaiting instruction. "Let's go to your room," he orders and I follow him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When we get to my room he has me open the door with my key (to make sure it works, I presume) and we go inside. Taylor has already unpacked my bag and placed my things around the room. Master leads me to the dresser where a pair of expensive-looking panties is set out on top. He explains that I will wear these, and only these, tonight; he shows me a robe hanging in the bathroom that I will wear whenever I'm going between the playroom and my room. He tells me to be in the playroom in five minutes and assume the position by the door; with that, he leaves my room and I'm free to get myself ready.

Five minutes later, I'm kneeling with my hands on my thighs and my knees spread, near the door in the playroom. This is it, zero hour, and my anticipation is at fever pitch. One of the most exciting moments in a D/s relationship is the beginning, when each partner is discovering what the other can take or will do. As I kneel and wait for Master, my mind is going through all sorts of possibilities and consequently, I am getting very wet.

After several minutes, no doubt to test my patience and build expectation, Master enters the room. I can only see his lower legs so I know he's barefoot and wearing jeans. He stands in front of me and orders me to stand up. He walks in back of me and starts braiding my hair, then ties it at the end. This done, he uses the braid to pull my head back, then runs his nose down my neck from jaw to clavicle. His hand cups my breast, then slides down the front of my body, into my panties; I feel one of his long fingers insert itself in me.

"Ah, Severine, _tu es si prête_." _You are so ready._

His finger explores my sex while his mouth drops little kisses up and down my neck. He withdraws his finger and inserts it in my mouth, exploring it the same way.

He lets go of my hair, withdraws his finger, and says, "Come here." We walk over to the toy chest and he opens the second drawer; it contains a selection of vibrators. "Pick one," he orders me. I look them over and choose the one that most closely resembles Mr. V.

"Now," he continues, "lie down on the bed and show me how you pleasure yourself." I crawl on top of the bed and he sits down on the couch, facing me. I lie down and start exploring my body, beginning with my tits, then working my way down. Once I've built up to a certain level, I start playing with the vibrator. I can hear Master moving on the couch but I'm not sure what he's doing. As I reach my peak and let myself go, I hear what sounds like a gasp from him. He then climbs onto the bed, flips me around, grabs my ass, and slams into me. He grabs my breasts, one in each hand, and proceeds to ride me like a fucking bronco. It's a harsh, punishing rhythm but it doesn't last long – after a minute or so, he finds his release and stops. After withdrawing, he slaps me on the ass, hard, and tells me to turn over.

I lie there, looking up at the canopy, while he gets off the bed. I hear him walk to somewhere in the room and it sounds like he's retrieving something. He walks back to the bed and orders me to spread my legs. I do so and then see the pop of a flash. It pops a few more times, then he explains, "I know you've signed a non-disclosure, Severine, but this is some extra insurance. Don't worry, it's a film camera, so nothing will show up on the internet unless you fail to take your NDA seriously."

He puts the camera on the chest and orders me off the bed. As I scramble off, he walks to the rack next to the door and picks out a flogger. He comes back, stands facing me, and orders me to kneel. I can't help but notice the bulge in his pants and I marvel at his recovery power.

"Take it out," he commands and I do so expeditiously.

"Now, suck!" he orders and I take him. Once we establish a rhythm, he whips my back with the flogger in time with his thrusts. The intensity increases until he explodes in my mouth. I take every bit of him, as he shudders in the final throes of his orgasm. He stands still for a few seconds, then withdraws.

"Well done, Severine. This was a good introductory session. Tomorrow we'll see what more you're capable of. You may go to your room now. I'll see you at breakfast, which I expect to have at 8:00."

And so I'm dismissed. I don my robe and leave the playroom. Back in my room, I put on a nightgown, then look out at the Seattle skyline and ponder the last few days. This is very different from my previous arrangements; I've never had a Dom who wanted to control so much of my life. On the other hand, I've never had a Dom who was so generous.

As Master said, tonight was an introductory session. I'm looking forward to whatever he has planned for the rest of the weekend.


	4. Night and day

I wake up in not-quite-total darkness. I'm disoriented but when I turn and see the Seattle skyline through the wall of glass, my memory of the last few days comes flooding back. Like many people, sleeping in a different bed is unsettling for me. I check the bedside clock and it's only two a.m. My mouth is dry and I realize I have a raging thirst so I decide to go to the kitchen and get something to drink.

Wearing my robe, I leave my room and head down the stairs. When I get to the first floor, I'm startled by muffled screams coming from somewhere in the hallway. I follow the sounds and find they're emanating from behind a closed door. It sounds like Master and it sounds like he's in agony, being tortured. I catch words like "don't" and "no" and once I hear him wail "mommy" but most of it is just inarticulate screaming. It's heart-wrenching and I don't know what to do. While I'm debating, Taylor appears, wearing only pajama pants.

"Ms. Thibodeaux? Can I help you?"

I'm a little flustered but I ask him, "Is that Mr. Grey? Is he all right?"

"Yes, Ms. Thibodeaux. He frequently has night terrors. It's nothing to worry about and he'll be okay."

"Oh. I was just going to the kitchen for something to drink when I heard him."

"Really, Ms. Thibodeaux, he'll be all right. Don't worry about it."

"Okay, I'll just get myself some water then."

He nods and goes back to wherever he came from and I continue to the kitchen. How very strange – first, Master's night terrors, and second, Taylor appearing from nowhere. How did he know I was in the hallway? My guess is that there are motion sensors or video monitors around the penthouse. Some sort of alarm must have alerted him.

Before getting water, I rummage through the refrigerator checking if there's something else that might better quench my thirst. I see several different kinds of juice and decide on grapefruit. As I take the bottle from the refrigerator, a voice calls out.

"Severine"

I jump and lose my grip on the juice bottle; it drops and crashes on the floor, splattering juice and glass everywhere. I turn around and let out a gasp when I see the outline of a man against the glass wall and Seattle skyline. I force my eyes to focus in the dim light and realize it's Master.

"Yes, sir."

He turns on the light and I blink at the sudden brightness. I'm not looking at his face but I can see that, like Taylor, he's only wearing pajama bottoms.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir. I woke up and I was thirsty. I'm sorry, I'll clean up this mess."

"Be careful. There's a lot of glass everywhere. I don't want you to cut your feet."

"Yes, sir. I'll just get a broom from the broom closet. Does Sir need anything?"

"No, thank you, Severine. I heard voices in the hallway and wondered what was going on."

"When I came down, Taylor saw me and wanted to make sure I was okay."

"Oh. Well then, I'll see you at breakfast."

"Yes, sir. What would Sir like for breakfast?"

"A Denver omelette, pancakes, and fruit."

"Yes, sir. I'll have it ready at eight o'clock."

"_A bientôt_"

He leaves and I get the broom and some towels to clean up the mess. When that's done I finally get myself something to drink, deciding on cranberry juice. I look at the clock and see it's only two fifteen. That whole mini-drama took less than fifteen minutes. I turn out the kitchen light and manage the trip back to my room without anyone popping up to check on me.

* * *

Breakfast is ready at eight and Master strolls into the kitchen right then. He informs me that he has plans for the morning and for lunch so I should be ready in the playroom at two o'clock. After that we again eat in comfortable silence while listening to the Morning Report.

Once we're done eating, he leaves and I clean up the kitchen, start the dishwasher, and go back to my room. Since I now have the morning free I grab my laptop and go to the nearest Starbucks to do some schoolwork.

Around noon I go back to Escala and fix myself lunch. It doesn't take long and I decide to have a bubble bath before I have to be in the playroom. As with everything else at Escala, the bathroom to my bedroom is beautifully appointed and has a sunken tub that looks so inviting. After starting the water and adding the bath beads, I go into my room to do a little yoga while the bath fills. When it sounds like the tub's almost full I get out of my clothes and lay out my panties for the afternoon session. I set the timer on my cellphone so I won't be late.

While I'm luxuriating in the water I think back over the last couple days and especially last night. Remembering the first time I looked Master in the face and saw the coldness in his eyes, I'm now convinced more than ever that yes, there was evil in this man's life, and he hasn't entirely exorcised it. I don't remember the details but I'm sure there was something in the online research I did on him that said he was adopted at an early age. I'd be willing to bet any money that he was taken out of an abusive home.

Having worked in social services, both here and in Louisiana, I'm all too sadly familiar with the atrocities that can be perpetrated on innocent children. There are some really sick people out there who should never be trusted with having children in their homes. And then there are also the people who don't have a clue on what it takes to raise and nurture children; the number of neglected children I saw was appalling. I'm not sure if Master was abused or neglected or both, but I'm pretty sure his childhood was not easy, at least before he was adopted. Even afterwards, life may not have been easy; early childhood trauma leaves scars and can lead to behavior that many families find difficult to deal with.

Enough! I need to get myself in a sexier frame of mind for the afternoon. I concentrate on the sensuousness of the water and bath oils. Thinking of the playroom, I try to imagine the different scenes that Master might act out. I know he was going easy on me last night and I suspect he will test me at this next session. He's only fucked me briefly and, thinking of his magnificent cock, I'm hoping that's part of his plan. This is one of the parts of being with a new Dom – finding out what he likes, how stern he is, how he likes to fuck. I'm really getting into it now.

The alarm goes off; I open the drain and get out of the tub, grabbing one of the big fluffy towels on the rack. After drying off, I liberally apply body lotion everywhere, enjoying my favorite fragrance, Boucheron. I put on my panties and robe, then sit down to fix my hair and makeup. I'm ready by five to two so I head over to the playroom. Once there, I hang my robe on the hook and get settled into position. Since I know I'll hear the lock open when Master arrives, I use the waiting time to look around the room and really study it. As I noticed on my previous visits, everything is very well-crafted, almost certainly custom made. The décor makes me think of something a robber baron in the late 1800s might have built for his personal enjoyment. What's strange is how much this room contrasts with what I've seen of the rest of the penthouse. Out there, everything is white, modern, sterile, controlled, almost soulless; even the art collection, which is extensive, looks like it's there to make a statement, not to be enjoyed. Here, as odd as it may seem (considering what goes on), there is warmth.

I hear the key in the lock and immediately lower my head. I see his legs and feet as he enters the room; like yesterday, he's barefoot and wearing torn, faded jeans. I hear him go to the toy chest and take out several things. After that, he turns on the music system; _Use Somebody _by Kings of Leon fills the room but not overly loud. Then he walks over to me and orders me to stand. Once I'm up, he stands in front of me for a few seconds, almost as if he's contemplating me.

"Look at me." I raise my head and find myself staring into his gray eyes; all trace of coldness is gone and they're raging with desire.

"Stand over there, under the grid." I walk over to the spot he's pointing at.

"Raise your arms." He walks over as I do so and stops, then pulls down some shackles from the grid. He cuffs me to them and then stands back to look at me some more, his eyes going up and down my body, visually caressing me. He walks behind me and stands close then reaches around with both hands and cups my breasts. He gently starts to play with them, kneading, massaging, tweaking my nipples, and I feel them become erect. I can feel his hardon through his jeans, pressing into my ass. He comes around front, bends down, and starts licking my left tit, slowly twirling his tongue around it. He gently sucks, then suddenly bites, hard. I give the tiniest of shudders and he stands up and looks at me, a shadow of a grin on his face. He repeats the process with my right tit but rather than bite, he takes something out of his pocket and I feel a pinch. I see that he's attached a nipple clamp and I watch as he attaches the other end to my left breast. The clamps are diamond-studded and they're connected by a gold serpentine chain. He gives the chain a slight tug and the harsh sensation travels from my nipples down to my groin like a lightning bolt. I'm getting fucking hot.

He kneels in front of me and slowly lowers my panties to the floor. He throws them to the side, then reaches around and grabs my buttocks, burying his face in my crotch as he does so. He kneads my ass for several seconds while darting his tongue back and forth between my cleft. He slowly moves his hands down my thighs, then moves my legs onto his shoulders. He grabs my ass again and proceeds to stand up, all the while his tongue continuing its delicious assault. My body revels in everything, the clamps, his tongue, his hands, and I feel myself start to approach a climax. Fuck, this is hot! I grab onto the shackles as a way of bracing myself and my hips start to move in synch with his mouth. They move faster and faster as he starts to use his whole mouth in a full frontal attack, until finally, I explode.

After my body stops quivering with aftershock, I relax and look down at him. He's looking at me, lips glistening, with that same hint of a grin as before. He walks, with me still on his shoulders, the shackles on my hands moving along the grid, and stops at the whipping bench. He sets me down on it and then releases my hands from the shackles. He takes off the nipple clamps, then orders me to lie face down and extend my arms. I hear him walk over to the implement rack and select something.

"So, Severine, did you leave the house this morning?" he says when he's back at the bench. He starts slowly massaging my ass.

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you ask permission to do so?"

"No, Sir."

"Next time you wish to leave while you're staying here, you will ask permission, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I think we need to make sure you remember to ask, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I think twelve strikes should do it, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

He shouts, "Count!" and I feel the hard stinging slap of a paddle.

"One!"

_Smack!_

"Two!"

_Smack!_

"Three!"

And so it continues, each slap getting harder and harder. Halfway through, my ass is burning and I love it. By the time we reach twelve I think it's almost raw. He lays down the paddle and gently, lightly strokes my buns.

"Such a deep, beautiful shade of pink," he utters breathlessly. He walks away, then comes back after a few seconds and starts massaging again, this time with some sort of cream which I suspect is arnica; it's a favorite of many Doms.

After several minutes of massage he orders me to get off the bench and go stand by the cross. He shackles me at wrists and ankles, then stands back and eyefucks me. He slowly unzips his pants and takes out his massive cock. He's hefting it in his hand as he approaches me. Fuck, I want it! He swirls it around my entrance and then slams it into me. He grabs onto the arms of the cross and proceeds to fuck me, hard. His rhythm is punishing and I feel myself building again. Master is also getting close and when he utters through gritted teeth, "give it to me, baby!" we release almost simultaneously.

We sag with relief and he rests his head on mine. His bare chest is close to my face and I notice several scars scattered on it. I've seen scars like this before but push my thoughts to the back of my mind since this is not the time to think of such things.

He withdraws from me and proceeds to take off the shackles. _Use Somebody _has been playing on repeat all this time and he reaches into his back pocket, takes out a remote, and turns it off.

"_Bien fait, Severine._" _Well done._

He picks me up and carries me to the bed. After shackling my wrists and ankles again so that I lie there spreadeagled, he goes back to the toy chest and returns with an eye mask. He gently puts it on me and then gets off the bed. After a few seconds I hear the strains of Barber's _Adagio_. Master has eclectic musical taste.

I hear only the music but then I feel hands massaging the sole of my left foot. While the massaging continues, I feel teeth gently nipping my toes, one at a time from the little one to the big. The sensation reverberates all the way up to my crotch. He continues up my leg, nipping and massaging and it feels so good. When he reaches my pussy he kisses it gently, gives it a few licks, then continues down my right leg and back to my right foot.

I feel nothing for a minute or so and then _whack!_ a belt smacks me, hard, right between my legs. The shock of it makes me jump and I let out a cry, "Aaahh!"

"Silence!" Master shouts.

My sensitivity down there, coupled with the sudden pain, lead me back to a heightened state of arousal. Another blow comes, _whack!_, this one harder and I manage to stifle a gasp.

Two more blows, each one harder than the previous one, and then nothing for a minute. I feel him climb on the bed and kneel beside me. I feel his lips on my nipples, nibbling and licking each one in turn, slowly, teasingly; they're hard as rocks now. He puts the nipple clamps back on and I moan, the feeling is so exquisite. "Ssssshhh," he whispers.

Next I feel a vibration against my torso. He's slowly rolling a vibrating wand up and down, from my breasts to my crotch. I feel my skin warm as he continues stroking it for several minutes. He stops and I feel him kneel above my head. Something touches my lips and I realize it's the head of his shaft. He leans forward and I take it in as far as I can. He bends over me all the way and I feel his mouth on my cleft. Oh, fuck, this is so hot! My inability to move, inability to see, his mouth on my twat, his cock in my mouth, it's all too much. I suck greedily, my tongue swirling as he moves, faster and faster, until suddenly my mouth is flooded with his sweet juice. I swallow everything and milk him dry. Through all this he continues oral assault on me and it's not long before I erupt. As I shudder, he milks me in turn, extracting every iota of pleasure from me.

As I start coming back down to earth he withdraws from me, rolls over to the side, and lies there for several minutes. "_Tu es si douce_," "_You are so sweet_," he murmurs. He slowly sits up, takes off my mask, removes the nipples clamps, and unshackles me.

"Well, Ms. Thibodeaux, that was a very good session." We stare into each other's eyes as he runs his thumb down the side of my face. All traces of coldness are gone from his eyes and they are filled with a sensuous warmth. "I'm looking forward to testing your limits even more tomorrow. You may go to your room now."

We get off the bed and I go to the door to retrieve and put on my robe. I see him get his jeans, which he obviously took off before our session on the bed. As he puts them on, I notice how well-chiseled his body is and how gracefully he moves. He must work out very hard to keep in such good shape.

As I open the door he tells me, "Dinner will be at six, Ms. Thibodeaux."

"Yes, sir. What would Sir like to eat?"

"Linguini aglio e olio, and a salad."

"Yes, sir."

I leave the playroom and return to my room. I need to search the internet for recipes for linguini aglio e olio, but first I need to take a nap to recover from our session. I'm exhausted.


	5. Weekend's end

After a half-hour nap, I wake up refreshed and feeling good. Once I clean up and put on some yoga pants and a tshirt, I begin my search for recipes. It doesn't seem like a complicated dish but holy shit, it calls for a lot of garlic; I've eaten it a couple times in restaurants but didn't realize it had _that_ much garlic. Still, even though I've never made it before, I'm not too worried about it. There's plenty of time before I have to start preparations so I check my email and do some mindless surfing on the internet.

As I check on what's been happening in the outside world, my mind goes over our afternoon session in the playroom. Master is definitely not holding back; my ass still smarts from the paddling. He's also strong as an ox; I've never had someone hold me on his shoulders while he ate me. Granted, I was partially supporting myself with the shackles but even so, not only did he bring me off but he carried me across the room.

When I think about him fucking me, the memory I'd pushed back earlier comes to the forefront. I remember the scars I saw on his chest and I also remember where I've seen scars like that before. I've been involved with several cases, both working in the field and doing research for school, of very young children being used as ashtrays. My earlier suspicions seem to be confirmed – he most likely was abused as a young child, in a very horrible way. This must be the evil I sensed earlier.

Suppertime is approaching so I head to the kitchen. Master must have put his request on the shopping list before Mrs. Jones left, since all the ingredients are there. I start the water boiling, then get the salads ready and put them in the refrigerator. Things are humming along and the meal is starting to look pretty good, although I still cannot believe the amount of garlic I'm using. While I'm setting the plates out I hear the strains of Verdi's _Rigoletto_ and Master walks into the kitchen. He's dressed to kill with black jeans and a tight black tshirt that shows off his well-toned chest.

"Smells good, Severine."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Would you like some pinot grigio with your meal?"

"Yes, please, Sir."

He gets a bottle from the wine cooler, opens it, and pours some into the wine goblets I set on the island. He takes one and hands me the other. "Cheers." We clink glasses.

"You may relax, Severine."

"Thank you, Sir. Would you like garlic bread with your pasta? The recipes I found suggested it so I've heated up one of the loaves that was in the freezer."

"Yes, that would be good."

"This dish has a crazy amount of garlic in it. I mean, I've eaten it before but I've never prepared it."

"I know," he chuckles. "I thought it might be the perfect meal to eat before I have to go out with people who've forced me to go along."

I give him a puzzled look and he explains, "My brother insisted I accompany him this evening when he goes out trolling for women." My look changes to one of amusement and I laugh at his little joke, "Cock-blocking your own brother? What did he do to deserve that?"

"Oh, he's not that bad, it's just that he seems to think that his mission in life is to get me laid."

I raise my eyebrows and say, "Oh, the irony! Still, I think it's nice that he cares so much about you."

He shrugs, "Normally I just brush him off but when he gets insistent, like tonight, I find ways to get back at him. It's almost gotten to be a game between us."

"Speaking of flavorful meals, do you like Cajun food? I thought I might make some next Saturday and I need to give Mrs. Jones the grocery list."

"I haven't had it that often but I've enjoyed it when I did. What can you make?"

I smirk to myself and answer him, "Jambalaya, crawfish pie, filet gumbo."

He pauses for a beat and then says in a low voice, "I like Hank Williams, Ms. Thibodeaux."

I turn and look at him; his eyebrow is arched but his eyes are smiling. "Good!" I reply. "So do I! Maybe we can listen to him while we enjoy our meal. If you have any zydeco that would be even better."

"As a matter of fact, I have some Beausoleil."

"_Merveilleux_! I was planning on shrimp etouffeé using my mom's recipe."

"That sounds wonderful. I'm looking forward to it already."

We start our salads, then continue on to the pasta. The dinner proceeds normally with mundane conversation about current events. He eats like a horse, taking extra helpings of both the pasta and the garlic bread. I'm sure he'll make a very fragrant wingman for his brother tonight. I can't really tell since I smell the same way.

While I'm cleaning up the dishes he tells me I'm free to check out the movie library in the tv room this evening. He has no idea what time he'll be home but I should have breakfast prepared at eight in the morning. Since tomorrow is Mother's Day, he'll be spending lunch and the afternoon with his family so we'll have a playroom session after breakfast. When we're finished there, I'm to clean up the room and the toys, after which I can leave.

He takes off while I'm loading up the dishwasher. Since Taylor was hovering while Master was giving me my schedule, I'm assuming they left together. It feels rather strange being in this humongous place all by myself. I find the tv room and look through the video collection. It's quite extensive and I really don't know what I'm in the mood to watch. Master must be an X-Files fan since I see that he has all seasons of the tv series plus the two movies. I select the earlier movie and pop it in the dvd player, then go to the kitchen and get myself something to drink. Juice and Pellegrino sounds good so I make a nice tall glass. Once I'm settled on the couch with my drink I start the movie. I'm relaxed and enjoying it.

"Mind if we join you?"

I jump so high I swear I must have hit the ceiling. Shit! I'm starting to wonder if people are purposely popping up on me. I turn around and Mrs. Jones and Taylor are both standing there, smiling. Mrs. Jones was the one who spoke.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Please – have a seat." I indicate the sofa space next to me. "Is there something else you'd rather watch?"

"Oh, no, this is fine. Jason and I are both X-Files fans. Sorry if we startled you." So Taylor's first name is Jason. We all settle down on the couch and I'm somewhat shocked to see Taylor drape his arm around Mrs. Jones's shoulder. As the movie goes on, I notice her hand move over his thigh and I can sense him moving his hand up and down her arm. Once the movie's over, I give Mrs. Jones a heads-up on next week's meal and she assures me the shopping list should be no problem. I also tell Taylor that I'll give him the keys to my old car so he can sell it. I take my leave rather quickly, in case their intent is to get frisky right there on the couch.

Back in my room, I retrieve my phone from my purse so I can check for texts and calls; I also want to forward my phone to the Blackberry. As I go through my purse, something seems off about the way things are arranged. Many women are very anal about purse organization and I'm one of them – makeup case, credit card case, wallet, etc., are all arranged just so and right now, they're not the way I remember leaving them. It's possible I had a memory lapse and threw things in there the wrong way but I really don't think that's it. The only people who could go into my purse right now are Grey, Taylor, or Jones but it doesn't make sense for any of them to do so. For now, I'll chalk it up to absentmindedness but I make a mental note to be on alert to see if it happens again.

It's a balmy night so I take my laptop and juice spritzer out on the balcony to do some junk reading before bed. I've read the whole _Twilight_ series and there's some British author writing steamy fan fiction based on those books so I check to see if she's posted any updates recently. She hasn't so I open my copy of _Catching Fire_ and get lost in a couple chapters before bed.

* * *

_It's warm, so warm, and I'm hot. I'm sprawled, face down and naked, on a sandy beach in the blazing sun. The warmth caresses my body everywhere but concentrates on my bare ass. It seeps between my legs and around my neck, up and down my back, reaching around to my bare breasts, entering every orifice it can find. A light, warm breeze penetrates my ears, first one and then the other, all the while stroking my face. Sensation is everywhere and my groin responds to it – I can feel moisture start between my legs and then increase. I am growing needy with desire. My hand reaches down to give myself some relief but before I can touch anything it's caught in a viselike grip…_

"No!" _Smack!_

I wake suddenly and realize Master is in bed with me, kneeling on my right. I'm lying on my left side and he's holding my right wrist in his right hand; he must have smacked me on the ass with his left hand. I can see the clock from here, telling me it's five a.m. There's a faint scent of brandy about him as he leans close to me and whispers in my ear, "On your knees."

I roll onto my knees and rest my upper body on my forearms. Master moves behind me and spreads my legs farther apart. I feel his fingers enter me and massage me both inside and out. It's exquisite and I feel myself building but just when I'm ready to explode he withdraws. After a few seconds, though, he's pushing something small and hard into me. Luv balls! OMG, I'm sure he expects me to wear them until playroom time and I don't know how I'm going to last.

"Don't. touch. yourself." With that, he's off my bed.

"Breakfast at eight, Severine. I'd like a Denver omelet and I want you to wear what I've hung on the door here."

"Yes, sir."

And he's out of my room. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling for several minutes. I can feel the balls inside me and I'm postponing getting up and walking around since I know I'll feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust. However, I can't avoid the inevitable so I get out of bed and decide to do an hour or so of yoga.

Once I feel I've had enough of that, I shower and shampoo, then spend a half hour or so drying and styling my hair. I'm as ready as I can be so I check out the garment he wants me to wear. It's a sheer, white, floor-length peignoir and by sheer I mean _sheer_. I put it on and except for the satin border, I may as well be naked; nothing is left to the imagination. The thin material slides smoothly over my skin as I move. The balls are working on me inside, the peignoir is working on me outside, and I don't know how I'm going to make it through breakfast. My nipples are hard, my pussy's wet, and he hasn't even touched me yet.

I make my way to the kitchen. I start preparing the omelets, taking my time with each step. While I'm chopping the vegetables I sense him enter the kitchen; I continue with what I'm doing. I hear him softly approach and as he gets closer I can smell him. There's no trace of garlic; instead there's a scent of jasmine – I think it's the body wash he uses. He stands right behind me and places his hands on my hips, moving them up and down my sides, sliding the filmy material with them.

"Good morning, Severine."

"Good morning, Sir."

His hands move around to my front and cup my breasts. His fingers pinch my nipples and I'm going mad with desire. I can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into my ass. He takes the knife out of my hand, lays it on the counter, and turns me around; his mouth seeks out mine and we indulge in a long, deep kiss. Finally, we unlock and he rests his head on top of mine. His hands are gripping my forearms so I can't touch him; I'm not sure but I think this is a pattern with him. He looks at me, smiling.

"Your face is such a beautiful shade of pink, like your ass was yesterday." I've been flushed all morning due to the luv balls. He lets go of my arms.

"Continue, please. I'll make the coffee."

I go back to chopping vegetables and mixing the rest of the ingredients. Several minutes later we're sitting down to our omelets, accompanied by toast, coffee, and orange juice. We eat in comfortable silence, no news, no music, no conversation. Sitting next to him, I can see that he's pitching a tent with his pajama pants, and since I still have the luv balls in me, it's taking every ounce of self-control I have not jump him right here in the kitchen.

We both finish breakfast rather quickly and when I start clearing the plates he says, "Forget that for now," and takes my hand, leading me upstairs to the playroom. He opens the door and tells me to kneel on the wooden table in the far corner. I climb up on it while he goes to the toy chest and takes out some things.

When he comes over to me, he puts the objects on one of the stools next to the table, then he positions me so that I'm at the edge of the short end of the table, spreading my legs so that my knees are almost touching the corners. He tells me to put my hands behind me, then he takes off the sash to my peignoir and ties them together with it. Back in front of me, he spreads open the peignoir and slowly lowers the collar so that it rests just below my shoulders. The whole front of my body is exposed and he arranges the robe so it spreads out in back of me and drapes down over the table. He braids my hair, then comes back around to face me again. He stands back to admire his handiwork.

"_Si belle, Severine_." _So beautiful._

He picks up something from the stool and shows it to me, almost like a magician showing the audience his prop. It's a white scarf and for a moment, I think he really is going to perform some magic trick. Instead, he uses it as a gag, tying it around my mouth like a hostage victim. I feel him run his nose down my neck, from my ear to my shoulder, taking little nibbles as he goes. He continues down to my left tit and stops there, sucking gently. His hand reaches around to my right tit and starts massaging, then pinching. I'm still highly excited from the luv balls inside me and this can send me over the edge but he stops before it does.

He walks around to face me again and picks up another object from the stool. He fastens it to my left nipple – looking down I see it's another nipple clamp but unlike the one yesterday, this does not have a chain. It's white with a white feather dangling from it; he fastens another one to my right nipple and then presses a button on each of them. They vibrate! OMG, I throw my head back and close my eyes in rapture.

"Open your eyes and look at me!" he commands.

I immediately lift my head and stare into his heated gray eyes. The look on his face is one of pure unadulterated lust. His hands are gently stroking my thighs, working their way towards my crotch. When they reach it, one of his thumbs presses my love button and I almost come right then but he pulls his thumb away quickly.

"_Pas encore!_" _Not yet!_

I'm whimpering with desire. He gently massages my entrance, then I feel him pull out the balls and the relief is so great it's almost like a climax. But my relief is short-lived – he reaches over to the stool and picks up still another item and shoves it into my twat. Another click of a button and I'm now being massaged internally by a vibrating dildo. Holy shit! With the vibrating nipple clamps and dildo, I almost feel like a cartoon character; it would be funny if I weren't so fucking overstimulated.

"Now, Ms. Thibodeaux, let's see how good your concentration is." He grabs me under my arms and lifts me off the table, then sets me on the floor.

"Kneel!" he orders me and I do so immediately. He takes off the scarf gag, then lowers the front of his pajama bottoms and boing! out pops Mr. Happy.

"Take it!" he growls and I do, all the way. I pump him frenetically and he soon empties himself and I take it all. I'm still in need of my own release. He knows this because as soon as he withdraws he reaches behind me and unties my hands. Then he picks me up, throws me on the bed, and reties my hands above my head. After pulling out the vibrator and ripping off the nipple clamps (oh the sweet pain!) he slams into me with his still-hard cock. After all these hours of stimulation all it takes is two thrusts and I'm thrown into the most mind-blowing orgasm I've had in months.

He sinks on tops of me and relaxes there for several minutes. I lie there wondering if there'll be more or if this is it. I'm not sure I can take any more.

As if in response to my thoughts, he says, "Well, Severine, I think we can call it a weekend. I still don't think we've taken you to your limits but we have plenty of time for that." He withdraws from me and gets up. "Don't forget to clean up here." And with that, he leaves the room.

I straighten up the room and take the toys with me to my room so I can clean them. I shower and get dressed, then after cleaning the toys I go back to the playroom and put them back in the toy chest. Back in my room I figure out what I need to take back to my apartment – I'm thinking I really only need my laptop, everything else can stay here.

Before I leave I stop in the kitchen so I can drop off my shopping list for next weekend. When I go there, Master is sitting at the breakfast island drinking a cup of coffee. He stands as I enter the room and I explain about the shopping list. I also tell him that I'm leaving the keys to my old car so that Taylor can sell it. He nods and says he'll accompany me to my new car. We walk to the foyer and he calls the elevator. We ride down to the garage level and when we get there I follow him to a red car. He unlocks it, then hands me the keys and gives me some tips on handling it.

"Thank you, sir. This is very generous."

"Thank you, Ms. Thibodeaux. I had a lovely weekend and look forward to seeing you Friday at five." With that, he kisses my forehead and opens the car door for me. I get in, start the car, and drive out of the spot. As I look in the rearview mirror I can see him heading back to the elevator. And so ends my first weekend as Christian Grey's submissive.


	6. Baby I Can Drive My Car

Driving back to my apartment I revel in the feel of the Audi. It's got a few more ponies than my six-year-old Mini Cooper and it handles like a dream. The I5 is quiet right now so I decide to really let it out, and in a few seconds I'm doing ninety-five. The engine is purring like a cat on a lap and with the sunroof open, the spring air is washing me with its freshness. My pleasure is cut short, however, when I hear a siren behind me and see the blinking squad car lights in my rearview mirror. _Shit! Fuck! Shit, shit, shit!_ The last thing in the world I need right now is a fucking ticket.

I quickly slow down and pull onto the shoulder. After stopping, I surreptitiously tug at the hem of my top, revealing a little bit more of my cleavage. Looking in the sideview mirror and seeing the state trooper approach, I get the other weapons in my arsenal ready: my smile and my Louisiana accent. When he bends down to look in the car window, I beam at him and say, "Well, good afternoon, Officer! What can I do for you today?"

"Ma'am," he responds, "do you know how fast you were going?" _Shit! _My ploys aren't working. His face could join the four on Mount Rushmore, he is that unsmiling. Nevertheless, pouring on the charm can't hurt so I continue, "I'm so sorry, Officer, this car is new to me and I really haven't gotten used to handling it."

"Ma'am, I clocked you at ninety-five miles per hour. The speed limit here is fifty-five. That's forty miles over the limit." _Fuck!_ That's something like a three hundred dollar fine! I can't afford that! I've really got to tapdance to see if I can get out of this.

"Oh, Officer, my last car was a Mini Cooper that could barely do seventy, I had no idea this car could speed up so quickly, really, really, I didn't."

"I need to see your license and registration, Ma'am." _Shit!_ I know where my license is but I'm hoping the registration is in the glove compartment. I check and whew! it's there. I hand him the items; he takes them and walks back to his squad car. I sit there patiently, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, wondering how bad it's going to be. While I'm not destitute, a fine like this will put a dent in the household budget. Fortunately, I don't have a record; I do have a lead foot but never got stopped in the blue Cooper. Obviously, red Audis are more of a target for cops; I'll have to remember that.

After what seems like an eternity, Officer Stoneface comes back to my window. "Here you go, ma'am. Have a nice day and please drive carefully," he says with what he considers a smile, handing me the license and registration but no ticket. _What the…_ I'm momentarily speechless but quickly recover enough to stammer out a "thank you, Officer" as he walks away. I sit there trying to figure out what happened. I check my license and it doesn't look any different. I check the registration, which I haven't seen until now, and it looks right – Master registered the car in my name and all my correct information is on the document.

It's time to get going, so I put everything away and pull out into traffic. Checking the speedometer diligently, I manage to get home without incident.

Back in my apartment, I fix myself a salad for lunch. While I'm eating I go through my snail mail, then my emails. There's a message from Claude Bastille, Master's personal trainer; he's confirming our seven a.m. workout session. He gives me the address of a gym not too far from campus and tells me to bring running shorts and a swimsuit. Gah! I haven't swum in ages; this is not going to be fun. I'm not too happy about the running but I can handle that better than swimming.

There are some school-related emails from classmates which I'll deal with later and a couple from my friends which I answer now. Since it's Mother's Day, I see if my mom's on Skype; she is, so I give her a call. Our conversation starts out nicely, she got the earrings and flowers I sent her, but then it turns serious when she talks about my dad. He's an engineer on a Gulf oil rig and although he doesn't work on the one that's having that horrendous leak, she's still worried. When it comes to my dad, my mom can't stop worrying so I try to calm her down as best I can even though I'm sickened and frustrated by the whole situation. Mom's a veterinary technician and a real animal lover so after finally putting the suffering from Katrina behind her she now has to deal with the impact this will have on the wildlife in the area. Knowing her, I'm sure she'll be out there rescuing oil-drenched animals in her spare time. I tell her I'll call her later in the week and we end the call.

I get in touch with a couple of my cohort members to set up our schedule for the week. Part of our coursework this quarter involves actually going out to interview at-risk families. We confirm the details on time and place for the interviews and then for the follow-up discussion. It's going to be a busy week.

The weather's nice so I pack my laptop and head to a nearby Starbucks to do some work for one of my classes. After getting my latte, I take a seat outside and start digging into the assignment. The class is about trauma and recovery and it's been a very intense subject. We look at all sorts of child and elder abuse. One case in particular brings back the only unpleasant memory of my weekend – a five-year-old girl, her limbs, chest, and back covered with burn scars. It prompts me to do a little more research on Master. I know he was adopted but I want to check if there are any details about that part of his life. All I can find is that he was adopted at the age of four, in Detroit. I make a mental note to see if I can find out more from the state of Michigan's files.

Going back to schoolwork, I divide my time between my class assignment and my thesis work. As I sit there, sipping my latte, I get the feeling that someone's watching me. Looking up and scanning the seating area, I happen to notice a woman sitting in a corner who strongly resembles me – petite, dark hair, very fair skin. She looks away quickly as my eyes meet hers, as if she was caught in the act of something or other.

"Hey, Teebs!"

I turn towards the voice and see Erika, friend and fellow student, heading my way. We started the program together and because we're the only two in the cohort who are from other cities, we've sort of bonded. She's from Chicago and we frequently get into spirited debates over whose city has the most corrupt / inept government. I don't think we'll ever settle that issue but we're both doing what we do in the hopes of helping to change policy and make things better. It may be a pipe dream but we're sure as hell going to try.

"OMG! What's with the emo look? I almost didn't recognize you." She sets down her latte and laptop, then takes a seat.

"New man in my life," I laugh. I've told Erika about my lifestyle but she's circumspect enough to respect my boundaries and doesn't pry for details. I have to be especially careful now that I've signed an NDA.

"How've you been? I haven't seen you in a while. Is everything OK? That oil spill sounds horrible; I hope your dad's all right."

"He is. He's not on that rig so he'll be fine. My mom's still worried, of course. I talked to her today to wish her happy Mother's Day."

She facepalms herself, "Thanks for the reminder. We have a Skype call scheduled for this evening. I'd almost forgotten.

"Say, some of us from the cohort are going to Snoqualmie tomorrow after our meeting just to hang out and do something fun instead of depressing – you in?"

"Sure! Who all's going?"

"Well, so far, you, me, Bob, Vera, and Joan."

My internal sigh of relief must be visible because her next words are, "Not Bella. She said she's busy."

I've never said anything since it's a close-knit group and we all need to work together but I can't stand Bella. She's a know-it-all who always tries to take over any discussion or project we do. Erika's astute enough to pick up on my feelings.

"Well, then, it sounds like a fun time," I tell her. "You want to ride with me?"

"Sure!" she replies.

"Great! Listen, I've gotta go home and get ready for tomorrow. I'll see you at our meeting, OK?" I stand up and start gathering my things.

"OK!" she responds. "We'll catch up tomorrow after class. Ciao!"

I stop at the Subway next door to get a sandwich for supper, then head back to the apartment. Once I'm there I see if there's anything good on TV but there isn't so I opt to finish _Catching Fire_ while eating my sandwich.

It's about nine o'clock when I turn the last page and even though I could probably stay up and watch the news or something I decide to go to bed. I have a rather full day tomorrow starting with that awful seven a.m. appointment with Claude, plus I had an exhausting weekend so I could really use the sleep. As I lie in bed before drifting off, I review the past couple days. It's so good to be in the hands of an experienced Dom again; I feel sated and cared for. If I were a cat, I'd be purring right now; as it is, I fall into slumber smiling at my memories of the playroom.

* * *

The gym session was hell but I survived. He had me on the treadmill at five mph for a half hour, then I had to swim laps for the other half hour. The treadmill run was tough; the laps damn near killed me. Tomorrow we'll do weight training and from then on we'll alternate between cardio and weight. Since I regularly do yoga he doesn't need to schedule that in our sessions. Claude is tall, buff, affable, and kind. If I have to go through the agony of personal training at least it's with someone like him; he'll push me hard but won't go all Jillian Michaels on me.

After leisurely enjoying my breakfast, I get ready for my cohort meeting and the afternoon outing. Normally I'd walk over there but since we're leaving directly afterward I drive. We go through our usual discussion of the current week's plan and last week's results. Bella's being her usual obnoxious self and I hold my breath at the end of the meeting when Joan asks her if she's sure she doesn't want to join us. She confirms that she won't and I shout a mental "yay!" Erika and I walk to the parking lot and when I open Audi's door she stops and shrieks, "What the fuck, Teeb? What happened to your Coop?"

"She gone," I tell her, smirking. "I've upgraded."

"You sure have, girl," she answers. "Why all of a sudden?" I just stand and grin and she gets the message. Like I said, she's discreet and doesn't pry but I know she understands. "Come on, get in!" I order, "We're going to arrive in style!"

We pull out of the parking lot and head for the highway, all while I'm showing her the few features I've learned about the car since yesterday. She's duly impressed and once we're out of the city we cruise along with the sunroof open, feeling like Thelma and Louise.

"I wanna see what this thing'll do," she says, "Go ahead and let it out."

"Erika, I almost got a ticket yesterday doing that, I don't want to risk it."

"Teeb, everyone around us is doing eighty, you can surely get away with a little faster than that."

"Really, I'd rather not." I feel like I caught such a break yesterday that I don't want to push my luck.

"Aw, come on! I'm stuck with that stupid Kia, I wanna feel what it's like to be in a real car! Please!" she whines.

"Oh, all right but just for a little bit," I concede as I punch it and the speedometer zooms past ninety. I keep right on going, and just when I'm getting ready to ease back I hear the dreaded siren sound again.

"Shit! Fuck! Shit! Shit! Shit! I knew it!" I swear as I pull over for the second time in as many days.

"Don't sweat it," she tries to soothe me, "I'm sure you'll get off with just a warning."

"Don't bet on it," I answer as I see the state trooper approaching. He looks in the car window and when he see the two of us he sticks his head in a little further and a smile appears on his face. It's not a nice smile and he's blatantly checking us out. Alarm bells go off in my head.

"Well, well, well, chocolate and vanilla, two of my favorite flavors," he says in a fake friendly voice. _Uh oh!_ "Say, little lady, do you know how fast you were going?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, Officer, I think maybe sixty-five?"

"Sorry, beautiful, but you were doing ninety-five. That's forty miles over the limit and that's a pretty hefty fine. Can I see your license and registration, please?" I gather them and hand them over to him. His hand accidentally on purpose grazes mine when he takes them.

"Okay, let's see if we can work something out about this," he says with a lascivious grin before going back to his squad car. Erika and I look at each other with misgiving.

"I think Officer Perv there is going to want a threeway for you to get out of this ticket," she says.

"I think you're right. Chocolate and vanilla and Chunky Monkey. How about if you just give him a hummer and see if that does it?" I ask, tongue in cheek.

"Hah! Guess again, sister! I wouldn't give him a hummer with _your_ mouth!" She starts giggling.

"Wait a minute! It was your idea for me to let it out!" I yell.

"Yeah, and now it looks like you're going to have to let Officer Perv _in!_" and she's giggling like a teenager.

"SShhh, he's coming back," I try to stop her giggles.

He lowers his head to the window without leaning in like before and hands me my documents back. The smirk is gone and he's all business now.

"Ladies, have a nice afternoon, and ma'am, please drive safely from now on." And with that, he's gone, just like yesterday. I check the documents and once again, no ticket. I'm even more baffled but I'll chew on this a little more later on. Right now I just want us to be on our way.

Erika, however, is not about to keep quiet, "WTF?! That's it? No ticket? You were doing ninety-fucking-five, Teeb!"

"I know, I know. Maybe it's Be Nice to Severine Week for the Washington State Patrol."

"Yeah, right," she scoffs.

"Well, let's just forget it and enjoy our outing."

"Let's. I'm looking forward to shopping and eating." And so we continue on our trip. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, as did the trip home. It felt good to be out with friends in a non-school, non-BDSM setting.

* * *

The week flew by and soon it's Friday again. No personal training today, instead I have my weekly trip to Esclava. I get the usual wax and massage but to my surprise, after my shampoo and blowout, Elena starts trimming my hair again. When she's done, I check the mirror. The emo look is gone and I'm now sporting more balanced layers. It's a look I prefer but I can't help feeling like someone's personal Barbie doll.

Back in the apartment, I eat lunch and do some schoolwork. The butterflies aren't as strong as last week but I'm feeling heightened anticipation. I'm looking forward to the playroom, to the toys, to whatever lingerie he's chosen for me to wear. I can't wait to feel his hands on my tits and ass, his dick in my twat and my mouth and maybe this time, my butthole.

I check the traffic report and decide to take a little extra time to drive to Escala. Master likes promptness and I can always walk around if I'm too early.

As it turns out, leaving early was the right decision since I get into the elevator at exactly five o'clock. When I get to the penthouse, Taylor is waiting for me in the foyer. He takes my bag and purse and informs me that Master is waiting in the great room. I walk in there with my eyes downcast. He was seated on the couch but gets up as I approach and walks towards me. I can see that he's wearing his playroom jeans. We both stop when we're standing right in front of each other.

"Severine."

"Yes, Master."

"I'm very disappointed in you."


	7. Punishment

His voice is soft and low, seductive, but I hear the menace in it. His anger is palpable.

_I'm very disappointed in you._

"I'm sorry, Sir." I'm pretty sure I know what this is about but it's best to let him speak.

"Look at me, Severine." I raise my head and see the wrath in his eyes. And suddenly, out of nowhere, he slaps my face hard, on my left cheek.

"You inconvenienced my staff."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"You cost me a good sum of money."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"And worst of all, you put yourself at danger."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"I expect you in the playroom at 5:30 wearing nothing but the white robe hanging in your room. Your dinner is on the breakfast bar; you will eat it now." And with that he strides out of the room.

I walk over to the kitchen and see a nicely laid out meal of poached salmon with a side of creamed spinach. There's also a small garden salad and a glass of white wine. As I start on the meal I think about Master's words. And then I think about the two speeding tickets I didn't get at the beginning of the week. So this is the price I'll pay instead of a fine. Well, bring it on!

After finishing my dinner quickly, I put the dishes in the washer and head to my room. I take off my clothes and clean up a little. Taking a deep breath, I head to the playroom wearing nothing but the plush white robe.

When I enter the room, I see that Master is sitting on the sofa, facing the bed with his arms spread along the sofa's back. Some type of choral music is playing softly in the background; I believe it's Ligeti's _Lux Aeterna_. Without turning around, he tells me to take off the robe, hang it on the door, and then come around to face him. I do all this expeditiously. Standing in front of him, I see that he is completely naked and has an enormous erection. I've been quivery ever since I arrived here and the sight of his massive member increases my excitement.

"Hold out your hands," he orders. When I do so, he handcuffs them; the cuffs are covered with white suede, so they feel rather smooth against my skin. He turns me around, braids my hair, and fastens it with a tie. In one swift motion, he lays me facedown across his lap, extending my arms and holding them down with his left hand. His right hand starts caressing my right buttock.

"Do you know why I'm angry, Severine?" he asks.

"Because I was speeding in my new car," I respond.

_Smack! _His hand comes down on my right cheek, hard.

"Your speeding cost me money, Severine," he says as he fondles my left cheek.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I say, contritely.

_Smack!_ His hand comes down on my left cheek, hard.

"Silence!" His hand goes back to my right cheek. "Your speeding diverted Taylor from his other duties."

_Smack!_ "And you put yourself in danger, as well as your passenger."

He continues his pattern of fondling and spanking, alternating between my right and left cheeks. I feel his hard-on pressing against my midsection. Since I'm lying face down across his lap, I'm inhaling the rich scent of leather from the sofa, mixed with the strong masculine scent emanating from his naked torso. It's a heady combination; mixed with the pain from the spanking my arousal grows and I'm losing myself in all the sensation.

He hasn't had me count the blows so I don't know how many he intended but at some point he stops. He spreads my legs so that my left leg is on the couch, exposing my drenched cleft. He inserts two fingers there and slowly moves them around. _Fuck! I am so fucking hot!_ When I start to move my hips in response to the motion of his fingers, he quickly withdraws them and spanks me again.

"Don't move!" he orders, as he reinserts his fingers. I can feel the moisture spreading as he massages my inner regions deftly. I've lost all track of time so I don't know how long it's been but at some point he withdraws.

"Kneel in front of me," he commands as he lets go of my hands and spreads his legs. I clamber off his lap and kneel demurely on the floor with my hands in front of me. I long to pleasure myself but know that I can't without his permission. He takes his fingers, coated heavily with my juices, and waves them in front of my face. Just when I think he's going to make me suck them, he brings them to his dick and slowly strokes it with them, leaving a film of pussy juice all over it. His fingers then go from his dick to his mouth, where he sucks them greedily, almost as if he's fucking his own mouth, and watches me watching him. Once he's done with his fingers, he rests his hands on his knees and looks at me, his gray eyes heated.

"Suck me, Severine. Grab the base of my cock and suck me."

I eagerly comply, wrapping my cuffed hands around his root and enveloping his shaft with my mouth. I taste the product of my arousal, mixed with his masculine aroma. Using every oral technique I know, I devour him. I swirl my tongue around him, then switch to mouthfucking. His scent makes my pussy wetter than I thought possible. As I increase my rhythm I can feel his arousal increase; he's groaning in a very low voice, as if he's trying to control himself. He leans forward and reaches under my arms to grab my breasts. I step up the pace even more, deep-throating him with every thrust. In return, he starts twisting my nipples and the pain is exquisite. We're on a spiral now, every action causing an increasing reaction until finally he explodes in my mouth and I suck up every drop. After a few seconds, he pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling him; he holds my hands down in front of me with one hand and wraps the other around my shoulders. He feverishly kisses me, his tongue ravishing my mouth, exploring it as if searching for remnants of his orgasm.

Finally, he withdraws and leans back into the couch. After looking at each other for a minute, he orders me to stand up. I shakily do so, and then he gets up. Leading me by the handcuffs, he walks me over to the area under the ceiling grid. He takes down a carabiner clip and hooks it to the cuffs. When he lets go, the spring it's attached to raises my arms above my head. He gets a blindfold that he'd set on the couch and puts it over my eyes. I hear him pad softly away and then I hear nothing but the music playing. Since I entered the room tonight my concept of time has become completely distorted. I have no idea how long I've been standing like this when all of a sudden I hear a low whistle and then _crack!_ It's the sound of a whip against the floor, just like he did during orientation. I sense rather than hear him walking around me and then I hear the whip crack again. While the spanking was physical punishment, I'm thinking this will be psychological torment. He's varying the distance from me when he cracks the whip. If he's close enough I can hear him when he raises his arm and starts throwing it but other times he's far enough away that I don't hear anything until the crack.

But now, I hear him raise the whip and then suddenly I feel it wrap around my torso. It doesn't hurt but since it's unexpected, I'm jolted. I marvel at his technique - a whip is not the easiest thing to handle and his control of it is extraordinary. He stands near me as he unwinds it. I feel his nose nuzzling my neck beneath my left ear.

"You know, Severine," he whispers softly, "they say that women are lucky because they can have multiple orgasms." He continues nuzzling as he speaks, moving over to the other ear. "But this weekend," he continues, "I'll have multiple orgasms. And you will have…none." His voice and touch and scent stimulate my juices some more; I feel like I'm dripping down there.

He backs away and repeats the floor-cracking pattern again, keeping it random. Suddenly, he cracks it again and wraps it around me, this time higher on my body so that my breasts are wrapped. As he unwraps me this time, he pinches one of my nipples, hard. Again, I'm jolted by the unexpectedness of it, plus my nipples are still feeling the effects of his handling them during the blowjob. Then I feel something leathery and hard slowly going up and down my spine. I think he's massaging me with the whip's handle. He brings it around to my front and circles one tit and then the other, slowly, teasingly. He moves it down my sternum, then circles my navel, then pushes it between my legs. Applying pressure as he does so, he starts rubbing my clit with it. He continues slowly, with increasing pressure, until I feel ready to burst. Just at the point where I'm about to climax, he stops. He withdraws the handle from my crotch and puts it to my lips.

"Taste it, Severine," he commands, "taste your arousal." I start licking the handle as he twists it in my mouth. I'm almost delirious with the need for release but I know it won't be happening. The smells from our bodies, the sounds of the music and the whip, the warmth on my ass from the spanking are all making me feel as if I'm on the verge of sensory overload.

After a minute or so, he removes the handle and drops the whip on the floor. He unhooks the carabiner, unlocks the handcuffs, and takes off the blindfold. Then he tells me to stand by the bedpost. After picking up the whip, he takes it, along with the handcuffs and mask, back to the toy chest.

"Put your hands behind the post," he orders as he walks back towards me. He's carrying a coil of white filament rope and when he's at the bedpost, he gets on the bed behind me. He takes my hands and slowly ties them together; he extends my fingers and strokes my palms softly with the fibrous end of the rope. The sensation goes straight to my groin, and intensifies when he continues stroking me up my right arm. He brings the rope to my front and criss-crosses it at my breasts, wraps it around my waist, then brings it up to my neck. He wraps it around my neck and the bedpost but not so tight that it's choking me. He's done all this slowly and sensuously, stroking my skin everywhere with both his hands and the rope ends.

When he's done, he reaches around me and cups my breasts, massaging them and tweaking my nipples. His right hand goes down the front of my body; when it reaches my twat he inserts two of his fingers inside and slowly fingerfucks me. He places his thumb on my button and oh so lightly rubs it. I'm beside myself with desire; _fuck!_ I need some release so badly. I start to tremble with an impending orgasm; he continues working on me but just when I'm about to hit the jackpot, he stops. I feel his breath hot on my neck; he nibbles my earlobe for a few seconds, then snaps his teeth and whispers, "oh, Severine. So close and yet so far." He switches hands so that his left hand works my pussy and his right hand massages my right tit. Again, just when release is imminent he stops.

He gets off the bed and stands in front of me, his eyes on fire. He inserts his hands between my butt and the bedpost, grabbing my cheeks. He bends down and sucks my left nipple, hard, biting it frequently, then switching to the right. I can feel his hard-on rubbing against my cleft. After a minute or two, he releases me, stands up straight and softly runs a finger down my jawline.

"What would you like right now, Severine?" he whispers.

"You, Sir," I answer.

"Really? Would you like me to fill your pussy with my nice big cock?"

"Yes, Sir." _Fuck!_ This is so hot!

"Well, maybe I will and maybe I won't," he says with a smirk. "I'm not sure you deserve it, Severine. I think you deserve something else instead." He reaches behind me and grabs something. I look in his hand and see a riding crop.

"Spread your legs," he orders and I quickly comply. He stands back and starts tapping me lightly on my left leg at the ankle, a second or two between each tap. He works his way up my leg. When he reaches my crotch, _whap!_ he strikes it, hard. I shake in response. He continues down my right leg, again with light taps until he gets to my ankle.

"Is this your lead foot, Severine?"

"Yes, Sir."

_Whap!_ He strikes it, hard, in front of the ankle. It hurts but I can take it. _Whap!_ He strikes my twat again, harder. He rubs it with the tip of the crop then brings the tip to my mouth. "Lick it," he orders me, and I do so. He goes back to light taps, this time around my midsection. Working his way up, he hits me hard on each breast. He throws the crop on the bed, then takes my face in his hands and kisses me, hard. We do the dance of the tongues again. When he's had enough he kneels on the bed and unties me.

"Stand by the cross," he orders me. I walk over there while he goes back to the toy chest. He comes back with a flogger and something else in his hand. "Turn around," he says and I face the wall. He shackles me to the cross, hands and feet. I'm starting to wonder when this will end; I've been spanked, whipped, and cropped. I've given him a blowjob and he's already told me I won't come. One thing I know is that I will certainly never speed for the duration of the contract and probably for the rest of my life.

When he's finished with the shackles he spreads my buttcheeks apart and inserts a butt plug. Geez, it's been a while since I've done anal and it feels strange, even though it's barely at the entrance. As I just get used to the sensation, he strikes my back with the flogger. It's not a hard strike and since I saw the flogger in his hand I was expecting it. He starts flogging rhythmically with what feels like a figure eight pattern. Every few strokes he stops and twists the butt plug in a little further. He continues this doing this until it feels like the butt plug is in all the way and my back feels like I'm starting to get a sunburn.

"You're skin turns such a beautiful color, Severine," he says as he throws the flogger on the floor. I shiver as he lightly touches my back. He slides his fingertips over the back of me, from shoulders to thighs. Slowly he twists out the butt plug, replacing it with the tip of his dick. OMG, I don't know if I can handle this. "Easy, Severine," he whispers, obviously sensing my discomfort. "I won't give you more than you can take." His left arm is braced against the wall and his right hand is guiding his cock. He slowly and gently starts thrusting, each time pushing a little further in. I need to relax but after everything he's done this evening I'm finding that very difficult. My brain feels like it's turning to mush. He thrusts harder and I'm trying to take it all in but it just hurts too much. "Yellow!" I cry, and he stops immediately.

He withdraws and places his dick between my buttcheeks, grabs them with both hands, and squeezes. He pumps vigorously and after several seconds I feel his climax as wetness spreads all over my rear end. Resting his head on top of mine, like the last time we fucked here, he almost absentmindedly starts stroking my breasts; even in my state of mental fogginess, it's arousing. After a minute or two, he stands back and starts unshackling me. "Go bend over on the whipping bench," he tells me when he's done.

Once again he goes to the toy chest and when he comes back he wipes my behind with what feels like a warm, wet washrag. He's very thorough, not just wiping on top but going between my cheeks and down my thighs. It's very soothing and I'm starting to feel almost sleepy. When he's finished he whispers in my ear, "Almost done, Severine. One more punishment, one more fuck, and then you can go to sleep."

One more! Shit, I don't know if I can last. He goes back to the toy chest but instead of coming back to the bench he detours to the wall and picks up another implement. When he comes back next to me, he tells me softly, "I need to make sure you keep yourself safe when you're not here, Severine." With that he stands by my legs and suddenly _whack!_ I feel the sharp sting of a cane on the back of my thighs. Fuck, that hurt! He waits a few seconds for the aftersting, then _whack!_ he strikes again, a little higher up on the thighs. I get three or four more strokes, I can't really count in my current mental state, and each one is harder than the previous one but he waits longer between them.

Finally he's finished; he puts away the cane and comes back with arnica cream. He applies it liberally all over the back of my body, from thighs to shoulders, rubbing it in firmly but gently. It's so soothing and I feel like I never want to move. His hands slide back down from my shoulders and stop at my ass; he gently spreads my legs and his fingers find the entrance to my pussy. I didn't think it was possible but he starts my juices flowing again and now all I want is his dick inside me.

"I washed my dick after fucking your ass so you're safe," he tells me. "You may not come, Severine." And I wonder if I can stop myself. And while I'm wondering, he slams into me like a battering ram. Fuck! it feels so good. I've been waiting for this all week. He pounds me like a jackhammer and before I know it, he's done. My fingers are clawing at the leather of the bench in frustration but I know there is nothing to be done about it.

He withdraws and walks away. When he comes back he wraps me in my robe and picks me up. He carries me to my room and lays me down on my bed. After drawing the sheet over me, he brushes my hair away from my face and kisses me softly on the temple. And my last thought is that I will never speed again. Or maybe I will.


	8. I Can't Get No

Like last weekend, I'm awakened by the early morning light coming through the window. I lie in bed a while without opening my eyes and let it wash over me. Soon I start feeling the aftereffects of last night's punishment, so I roll around trying to find a comfortable position but give up after ten minutes or so. Sitting up, I notice a glass of orange juice, two Advil, and a handwritten note on my nightstand. I take the Advil and read the note while sipping the juice.

Good morning, Severine  
Breakfast will be at 7:30, pancakes, bacon, eggs over easy, and fresh fruit  
Wear the white peignoir and the panties I've laid out.  
CG

It's only quarter to six so I have time for some yoga and a shower before I have to start cooking. I pad off to the bathroom to do my morning eliminations; while I'm there I check my body in the mirror, looking for marks from last night's debauchery. Except for some residual glowing, there are none, not even from the caning. Master's technique is excellent.

After changing into a t-shirt and yoga pants, I stand in front of the window wall and start my routine. Normally, I can quite easily clear my mind for breathing and poses but this morning I'm having a hard time doing that. My mind keeps going over the playroom session last night and the reason for my punishment. I suspected something was weird when I got out of both speeding tickets but for the life of me I can't figure out how he did it. Taylor is obviously involved since Master mentioned him being diverted from other duties, but beyond that I have no idea.

My brain chews on all this for a while until it finally grows tired of the subject and I can continue my session with a clear mind. I've found that whenever something's bothering me, whether it wakes me up in the middle of the night or distracts me from a task I'm trying to accomplish, it's best to just think about it for as long as it takes and eventually my mind switches off when it's had enough.

An hour or so later, I'm done and head back to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. The hot water feels so good and as I wash myself with the loofah I start to get aroused. I think of how he brought me so close last night and am really tempted to finish the job myself but that would be in violation of the contract. He may very well have cameras installed in my quarters but even if he doesn't, I've always played by the rules laid down by my Dominant. If Master says I may not pleasure myself then I won't pleasure myself but it's getting awfully damn difficult to comply with this rule.

Bathed, dressed, and in the kitchen, I prepare breakfast while listening to _Weekend Edition_. The news on the oil spill gets worse and worse. Having a father who works on a rig, I understand the dangers and difficulties but I really can't believe how long it's taking them to deal with this shit. I'm glad when the topic switches to something else.

About five minutes before breakfast is ready, Master walks in wearing a muscle shirt and sweatpants. We greet each other and he starts the coffee before filling two glasses with grapefruit juice. He sets them on the breakfast bar then walks over to stand right behind me. I feel his fingers lightly touch each side of my neck, then slide slowly down my front to my cleavage, tracing the hem of the peignoir. He gently spreads it open and then circles my nipples with his fingers. I stand there savoring his touch and his scent, enhanced by his obviously recent workout. After a minute or so, his right hand continues its way down my front and lands on my clit, softly pressing it. His left hand now switches to pinching my nipple and I becoming a quivering mass of arousal. The buildup continues, especially when I feel his hard cock pressing into my ass, but just when I'm ready to explode, he stops.

Saying nothing, he walks over to the coffeepot, pours the coffee, then goes to the breakfast bar and takes a seat. While he does this, I take a couple seconds to settle down, then finish cooking, and serve the meal. While we're eating, the news program comes around again to the oil spill and he asks me about my dad. It takes a couple of beats to digest the fact that he knows what my dad does but then I answer him with what I know from talking to my mom. Most of our breakfast conversation is taken up with discussion of the spill; he's getting regular reports on the situation since he has a couple of ships in the area.

Once we finish, he tells me to be in the playroom at 8:30, wearing what I have on right now. I clean up the breakfast dishes and check on the ingredients for the shrimp etouffee I'd planned for dinner. Mrs. Jones has taken care of everything, even informing me in a note she left that the shrimp will be delivered fresh this afternoon. I'm wondering if they'll be peeled and deveined or if I'll have to do that but there's no way of knowing until they get here.

I have a few minutes to go to my room to freshen up before I go to the playroom. I'm wondering what he has planned for our morning session. Part of me is hoping it's not as rough as last night's session and part of me is hoping for exactly that. When I get to the room, he's sitting on the sofa, same as last night, but instead of telling me to stand in front of him, he orders me to sit on the edge of the table. After I hop on, he comes over and I see that he's wearing his torn jeans with the top button unbuttoned. He has a mask in his hand; he puts it on me and braids my hair. That done, he turns on the music; it's solo piano, very sultry but I don't recognize it. I hear him walk over to the toy chest and when he comes back to the table it sounds like he's put several objects on it behind me.

He walks around in front of me and tells me to scoot back just a little bit. I do so and sit there waiting patiently, my legs dangling from my knees over the edge of the table. I hear nothing except the music but after a few seconds, I feel his fingertips on each side of my neck, like he did before breakfast except that now he's in front of me. Using the lightest of touch, he slides down from my neck, spreading open the peignoir, and circling my tits. After several seconds of teasing them, he continues down to the sash, untying it and throwing it behind me. He slips the peignoir off my shoulders and down my arms. Slowly he slides off the right sleeve and when my arm is free, he brings my hand up and I feel his tongue darting at my palm, little light laps that send a jolt straight to my core. He continues up my arm with feathery kisses all the way to my earlobe, to which he gives a little nip. He repeats the same procedure with my left sleeve and arm.

I sit there, blindfolded, naked, and highly aroused, wondering what he'll do next. I hear him move the items behind me and then he orders me to lie back. When I've done so, he lifts my head gently and puts a small pillow under it. He takes my hands and ties them with what feels like the sash from my peignoir, then he removes my panties. He tells me to put my hands over my head and I comply. I'm feeling somewhat like a patient on an operating table, minus the anesthesia.

I feel his warm breath at my ear. _"Ne bouge pas, Severine." Don't move._ He whispers in the softest of voices and it travels all the way down to my crotch. It seems like the morning's theme is softness and gentleness. While I'm mulling this over, I feel a feathery light touch in one of my palms. At first I think I'm imagining it but then, no, I definitely feel something. Soon it's clear that it really is a feather that's grazing my hand. It circles my palm several times, then slowly travels down my left arm. When it gets to my shoulder it goes across then up my neck until it's behind my ear. It's tickling me now and I'm trying very hard not to move. After a few seconds it moves down my jaw, then jumps to my nose and grazes the tip.

He stops there and repeats the entire process with my right side. This time when he gets to my nose he continues down the front of my neck, onto my torso, between my breasts, then around my right nipple. I'm lying there, absorbing the sensation when ow! he bites it, hard. I almost jump but manage to control myself. The feather resumes its circling then stops and I feel his mouth envelop my breast, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the nipple. Shit, I'm getting so hot and wet now.

After a minute or two of this he continues with the feather down to my waist, around my navel, then side to side around my hips. He walks around the table to come back to my left side and brings the feather back up to circle around my left tit. This time I'm prepared for his bite but it doesn't happen. Instead, he goes right to sucking it, like he did the other one but now his hand travels slowly down my body to my crotch and he gently spreads my legs far enough apart to reach inside me with his fingers. His slow circular motion is torturing me with pleasure. His thumb starts pressing on my clit and I start to really build up. When he feels me about to climax, he takes out his fingers and puts them on my lips.

"Open!" he whispers and when I do he inserts them. "Now close your mouth," he says softly and after doing so he proceeds to fuck my mouth, slowly and sensuously, spreading the taste of me all around the inside. It's taking all my self-control not to rub my legs together to get some relief.

Suddenly he withdraws and I hear him walk to the end of the table. He roughly shoves my legs apart and I hear him lower his zipper. He grabs my hip with one hand and pulls me towards him until I feel the tip of his dick at my entrance. Then wham! he slams into me. With both hands on my hips he fucks me, hard. He's banging the shit out of me and I start approaching the big O again but just when I'm ready, he finishes. I am going out of my mind with the need for relief but I now know that this is his plan for today.

He pulls out, comes to the side of the table, and picks me up. He carries me over to the bed and sets me down on top of it. I hear him pad over to the toy chest and when he comes back he fastens my ankles to a spreader bar. He adjusts it so that my legs are spread far apart, then flips me over so I'm lying face down. He orders me to get on my elbows and when I've done so he shoves the spreader bar forward so that my ass is high in the air. He gets on the bed and kneels on my left.

Whack! He slaps my right buttcheek hard. So I'm in for another spanking but unlike last night, when he massaged my cheeks, this time he inserts his fingers in my cleft and massages there. After several seconds he withdraws and massages my clit and I shudder with the sensation. I am nothing but nerve endings down there. Once again, I start to come and he stops, then whack! slaps my left cheek hard. Again, he inserts his fingers, massages, withdraws, and massages my clit. He does all this very slowly, languidly, his expert fingers knowing exactly the right pressure and pace to use.

He keeps up the pattern: slap, internal massage, clit massage, and repeat, alternating cheeks. I've lost track of time and lost count of how many times he's done this to me. If I could, I'd be begging for mercy right now but I know that's not allowed. Finally he stops and unhooks one ankle from the spreader bar and moves it to the side. Kneeling behind me, I feel his cock at my folds and then wham! he slams into me once again. Another quick fuck and I'm left hanging again.

He withdraws and refastens the spreader bar, then flips me on my back. Once more I hear him go over to the toy chest and return. I feel him kneel on my right and then feel his hands on my chest. My sense of smell tells me before my sense of touch does that he's using some kind of oil; a subtle scent of coconut reaches my nose and then my skin tells me it's a warming oil. He's massaging it deeply into my chest, stopping for a second or two when he's at my nipples to give them a sharp tweak. He slides his hands all over my torso, kneading me, almost like a cat. When he gets down to my crotch he touches my button for the briefest of moments and then continues elsewhere.

I've lost all sense of time so I don't know how long he's done this but it feels like forever. His long-fingered hands are strong and while the massage feels good, his sporadic touching of my erogenous zones is driving me up the wall. My skin is heated wherever he's applied the oil. Finally, he stops the massage and, like he did last weekend, straddles me in the sixty-nine position. I work on his cock eagerly and he works on my pussy. The difference is that this time when I bring him off, he stops. _Fucking shit!_

He gets off me and removes the spreader bar. When he removes my mask he's got a sinister grin on his face. He brushes a finger along my jawline and asks me, _"Tu t'amuses, Severine?"_ _Are you enjoying yourself?_

"_Oui, M'sieur." Yes, Sir._ I lie, not very convincingly I don't think, since he raises an eyebrow.

"Lunch at noon, Severine," he says as he gets off the bed. "What would Sir like?" I ask him. "Sandwiches would be fine," he answers. He puts on his jeans and leaves. I lie on the bed for a while trying not to focus on my arousal. Right now, I'm feeling like I could fuck every single penis in Seattle and still be wet enough to go to Portland. Instead, I get myself together; I need to tidy up the room, clean up myself, and fix lunch. The weekend's not even half over and I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of it.


	9. Ragin' Cajun

After tidying up the playroom I go to my room and check the time. It's only 11:30 but it feels like it should be midnight. I quickly take another shower, put on a cami and some jeans, then head to the kitchen to see what to do about lunch. Looking in the refrigerator and freezer I see we have the fixings for meatball sandwiches; there's French bread, meatballs, and marinara sauce. It's a little messy but easy to prepare. I also found some macaroni salad; that'll be a nice side dish. While I'm heating everything up and setting the table, Taylor comes in with a package and tells me it's the shrimp. He puts it in the refrigerator and leaves. I'll deal with it later.

Master comes in and I ask him if he'd like cheese on his meatball sandwich. He says no and asks if I'd like a beer. I say yes and he gets a couple from the refrigerator, opens them, and sets them on the breakfast bar. I lay out the meal and we take our seats. The conversation is pretty mundane and when we finish he informs me that he'll be working in his office for the afternoon. I ask him what time he'd like dinner and he tells me six. That gives me plenty of time to prepare everything and still have an hour or two to study.

He goes to his office and I go to my room. I get my laptop, then sit on the balcony, enjoying the mild spring air and doing my research. I'm still horny as hell so my concentration isn't worth shit. It's taking all my self-control not to go to his office, yank his pants down, and fuck his brains out.

After an hour, I give up and go downstairs and start working on dinner, even though it's rather early. I figure I can take my time with the vegetables and if the shrimp need work I'll have plenty of time for that, too. I take my iPod so I can listen to some Dixieland jazz while I'm working. The shrimp are beautiful and so are the vegetables as I lay them out on the counter. Mrs. Jones really did a good job getting the ingredients I asked for. She was even able to get some French bread flown in from Poupart's Bakery back home since that's the best thing to go with etouffeé. When I wrote my list I'd only mentioned in passing that it would be nice to have some. Even though it's been frozen I'm sure it'll taste fantastic.

As I start chopping I think back to when I was growing up and helping my mom make this dish. In my parents' circle, Gwen's etouffeé is considered the best in the parish; it's my dad's favorite dish so she makes it frequently. She's a fabulous cook and all her Cajun meals are to die for but daddy and I always ask for etouffeé for our birthdays.

Between the music and the cooking, the afternoon goes by quickly and it's a welcome distraction from my state of frustration. The nice thing about a stew type dish like this is that you can let it simmer pretty much as long as you want since that only serves to let the flavors really soak in. Once it's bubbling I go back upstairs to get a little surprise I'd brought with me; I don't know how Master will react when I show him what it is but we'll see.

At six o'clock almost on the dot, Master walks into the kitchen.

"That smells fabulous, Severine."

"Thank you, Sir."

"What kind of wine should we serve with the etouffeé?"

"Um, well, Sir…"

"You may relax, Severine."

"Okay, then, um, I brought a little something from back home."

He looks at me somewhat doubtfully so I quickly continue, "It's an old recipe my dad uses and it was handed down to him from his dad who got it from his dad and it's totally safe and he makes it himself and he's really proud of it and he gave me some when I left for Seattle and I only use it on special occasions and so I thought well, um, maybe" at this point I realize I'm babbling so I go to the counter and pick up two jars filled with clear liquid. I turn around and hand him one and say, "It's white lightning."

He takes the jar and looks at it; then there's a very pregnant pause while he looks at me as if I'd grown another head. After what seems like an eternity, a small smile slowly appears on his face and then grows until he erupts into fullblown laughter. I must have been holding my breath because I audibly exhale.

"Ms. Thibodeaux, you are certainly full of surprises. I think we'll start out with some sparkling water and partake of this later in the meal."

"That's fine. Dinner's ready whenever you are."

"Well, then, let's not wait any longer. Shall I put BeauSoleil on the speakers?"

"That would be wonderful."

I put some rice and etouffeé on our plates and the rest in serving bowls so we can help ourselves to some more. I cut up the bread and place it in a bread basket. While I'm doing this, I hear the twang of Michael Doucet singing. I'm starting to get a little homesick but I'm sure I'll feel better when I start eating; food has a way of doing that for me.

We seat ourselves, clink water glasses, and dig in. Suddenly I hear soft moaning coming from Master. I look at him; he's got his eyes closed and he's chewing very deliberately. The moaning continues and I'm starting to wonder if he's going to have an orgasm.

"You like?" I ask him softly.

"Severine," he answers back, just as softly and very slowly, "if this meal were a woman I would absolutely have. to. fuck. her."

And for the second time this evening I let out an audible exhale. He looks at me with a very sweet smile, runs his finger along my jaw, and says, "Thank you for making this."

I smile back at him and say, "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

We continue our meal, listening to zydeco and serving ourselves seconds and thirds. Before we finish our third helping he unscrews the lid of the jar and says, "I think it's time to sample this family heirloom." He raises it towards me and I pick mine up so we can clink. We both take a swig and he has an immediate reaction. He lets out a gasp, shakes his head like a wet dog, and blinks several times. He purses his lips and lets out a "Whooo-eee!"

"Are you okay?" I ask him, more than a little concerned. My dad's white lightning is not for the faint of heart, not that I think Master is weak but still, if you're not used to it it can be quite a shock.

"I'll tell you in a minute," he answers, somewhat out of breath. "That's some potent stuff there!"

"You might want to take it easy. It really packs a punch."

"It doesn't seem to affect you too much."

"I grew up on this," I inform him. He arches an eyebrow at me and I quickly add, "Okay, not from infancy but when I started drinking my parents wanted to make sure I could handle my liquor. My dad figured if I could handle this I wouldn't have any problems with the stuff they serve in bars. In moderation, of course." I calmly take another swig, proving my point.

"Well, it's a good thing we've eaten a substantial meal, 'cuz if I'd had this on an empty stomach, I'd probably be on my ass in a few minutes."

"That's true. Eating and dancing are the two things my parents told me to do if I wanted to do any heavy drinking."

"Do you like to dance, Severine?" he asks with sudden interest.

"Very much," I answer, "Have you ever danced zydeco? I've been itching to do some steps ever since you put on this music."

"No, never tried it but I wouldn't mind learning. I've been told I'm a fairly good dancer."

"Cool! Let's finish our meal and then I'll show you. The basic steps are fairly easy and you build on those."

"Sounds great!"

We devour what's on our plates and he helps me put away the leftovers and load the dishwasher. We take our jars and water glasses and move to the great room, setting them on the dining table. We walk over to the center of the room and he stops the music so I can explain the steps.

"Like I said, the steps are easy; it's a simple pattern: step, pause, step, step; step, pause, step, step." I demonstrate for him and explain how he should be moving. He tries it himself, then we do it together, slowly. We practice some more, slowly, then go a little faster. I then show him a few different back and forth movements and once we practice those, I ask him if he wants to try it with the music. He says yes and gets the remote.

_Parlez-Nous A Boire_ resonates through the room. We hold hands; I count out a beat of four; and we're off. We move around the room to the steps I've shown him and when the song ends I signal him to stop it from going to the next one. I show him some more steps; when he's comfortable with them he starts the music again, same song, and we take another dancing tour of the room.

We continue his lesson this way until I've shown him my entire zydeco dance repertoire. He's a quick learner and it's fun teaching him. He puts the player on shuffle and we experiment with different tempos. After every two or three dances we pause to down some white lightning, occasionally chasing it with sparkling water. In spite of the strength of the drink, with all the dancing we're doing we're not getting drunk, we've just got a nice little buzz going.

I've lost track of time so when we finally empty our jars and he looks at his watch, I'm shocked to find it's one thirty in the morning. He stops the music and turns to me.

"This has been a wonderful evening, Severine. The meal was delicious; the white lightning was, shall we say, interesting; and I loved dancing with you. Thank you so much." He makes an elaborate bow, then takes my hand and kisses it gently on the knuckles.

I make an elaborate fake curtsy (wearing jeans makes it impossible to do a real one), bow my head, and say, "You're very welcome, Sir. I'm glad it pleased you."

"It did, very much," he replies. "I'm having breakfast with my family in the morning so you're on your own but I'll be back for lunch around one. I'd love to have the leftovers of that wonderful etouffeé."

"It'll be ready for you, Sir."

"I don't think I could handle any more white lightning, though," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, Sir, I didn't bring any more with me. Would it be okay with Sir if I went to a coffee shop tomorrow morning?"

"That's fine, Severine. _A demain. Bonne nuit_." _Until tomorrow. Good night._ He heads upstairs.

I gather my empty jars but before I go up to my room I take a moment to enjoy the beautiful view of Seattle from the great room window. It's been a while since I had this much fun but even though I had a really great time, the homesickness has returned. I like Seattle but New Orleans will always be where my heart is.

After a few minutes I head to my room and get ready for bed. Once the glow of all the dancing has faded, I'm back to being frustrated as hell. I go over the day in my mind; the session in the playroom looms large. I'm sure Master's not done punishing me and I'm wondering what he'll have in store tomorrow after lunch.


	10. The Suspense Is Killing Me

Daylight awakens me. Even though it's early and I haven't had that much sleep, I still feel refreshed. I lie in bed, stretching like a cat, luxuriating in the knowledge that I have absolutely no deadlines this morning. Master said he'll have lunch at one so I have the first half of the day all to myself. No breakfast to make, no training session, no salon appointment, no classes or cohort meetings, nothing – it's wonderful.

My muscles are a little sore; I haven't done so much dancing in quite a while. I also have a bad case of morning mouth. After brushing my teeth and using the toilet, I decide to go for a run. The personal training must be working for me since I'm actually looking forward to it. I put on shorts and a tshirt and head to the kitchen with my water bottle. After filling it, I take the elevator to the lobby and go outside.

Early Sunday morning is one of my favorite times. There's hardly anyone around and on this particular morning the air is fresh and clean. I inhale deeply and head towards Pike Place Market. Master's penthouse is beautiful but it feels so good to be outside. I start out slowly and gradually pick up the pace. There are a scattering of other runners about and we nod at each other in fellowship.

After about a half hour I turn around and head back to Escala. Back inside the condo I get myself a coffee and bagel and enjoy them at the breakfast bar. Planning the rest of the morning, I decide to do some yoga, have a bubble bath, then take my laptop to Starbucks and do some schoolwork.

In my room, I spread my mat in front of the window wall and start my poses. The stretching feels good after the running and last night's dancing. I'm able to clear my mind and this, too, feels good.

Next on the list, I start the bath running and pour a generous amount of bath oil into the tub. As the bubbles forms and the hot water steams, I inhale the sweet fragrance of oleander. It reminds me of my mother's garden back home; I got the bath oil from her as a Christmas gift. I'm hit by another wave of homesickness as I sit on the edge of the tub and watch it fill, letting my mind drift to memories of my childhood.

Before the tub is completely full I switch the faucet to cold to make the water temperature tolerable. I go to the bedroom and set my smartphone alarm for an hour. Back at the tub, the bath is full so after shutting off the water, I strip out of my clothes and gradually immerse my body. I sink down slowly and let the water wash over me, until I'm up to my neck in bubbles. The tub is deep with a sculpted back so I can lie comfortably with my head resting on a pillow-like ledge. I close my eyes and concentrate on my physical state, the water enveloping me, the fragrance entering my lungs. I slide my hands over my arms, down my sides, down my legs, and back up my torso. I start to think of the last two playroom sessions and wonder what's in store for this afternoon. Will he continue to punish me or does he think I've learned my lesson? If he doesn't give me any relief today, will he at least let me take care of myself this week? Right now I am so wishing I had Nemo with me.

I soak until the alarm goes off; after opening the drain I wash and rinse my hair, then rinse myself off. Getting out of the tub I grab one of the big white fluffy towels to dry myself. Mrs. Jones does a really good job with the bath linens; like everything else here, it feels so luxurious, like drying myself with a cloud. I head to the bedroom to dry and style my hair, then get dressed.

Once I'm ready I pack up my laptop and purse and go downstairs to the elevator. I pass Taylor in the hallway and he nods a brief acknowledgement at me. Master must have driven himself to his family's breakfast.

Outside again, I noticed that activity has picked up on the streets since my run earlier. I walk to the nearest Starbucks, which is doing a rather brisk business. After getting my latte I find a seat in a far corner, take out my laptop, plug it in, and pull up the projects I'm working on. I start answering my emails and getting updates on what others in the cohort have done.

I'm deep in research for my thesis when I look up to give my eyes a rest from staring at the screen. As I scan the room, focusing on different items in the distance, I spot her – the woman who seemed to be watching me last Sunday in the Starbucks near campus. At least it looks a lot like her and like last time, she seems to look away as I turn my gaze to her. She's sitting at a table near the door and I'm tempted to go up to her to find out if she knows me but decide against it; I don't like to leave my laptop unattended in public and I'm on a roll on right now with my schoolwork. If she's still there when I leave maybe I'll approach her then but not now.

I go back to my research and continue for a while, keeping an eye on the clock, but it's no use, the momentum is gone. I finish the last of my latte and pack my laptop; picking up my purse I head for the door and notice Mystery Lookalike Chick is gone. As I go out the door I look both ways to see if she's hanging around but she's not. I can't decide whether I'm relieved or disappointed. A large part of me wants to know what the fuck is going on but on the other hand, I'm really not up for a confrontation right now.

Making my way to Escala, I try to shake off the hinky feeling I acquired in the coffee shop. I force myself to think about the leftover etouffeé we're having for lunch and about the playroom session that will undoubtedly follow. My pace quickens at the thought of having at least one appetite satisfied.

It's only eleven thirty when I get to my room; I think a little nap would be nice before I have to start lunch. Since it's just a matter of heating the leftovers and some bread it won't take long so I set the alarm for forty-five minutes. I open the door to the balcony to let a nice cool breeze in; it blows gently over me as I doze.

When the alarm goes off, I stretch before getting out of bed. After freshening up, I go downstairs to get everything ready for lunch. I hear voices coming from Master's office; he must have returned while I was napping.

Since there's plenty of time I opt for heating the leftovers on the stove rather than the microwave; I'll use the oven for the bread. After setting the breakfast bar I sit by the great room window and take in the view.

Punctual as ever, at one o'clock I hear a voice singing in the hallway.

_Parlez-nous à boire, non pas du marriage,_

_Toujours en regrettant, nos jolies temps passé._

_Let's talk about drinking, not marriage,_

_Always regretting our happy times passed._

I turn and see him enter the great room with a smile on his face.

"_Bonjour_, Severine! How's my little dance instructor today?"

"I'm fine, Sir, and you?"

"Hungry! Looking forward to finishing off that etouffeé."

"It's ready, Sir. I'll serve it right now."

I go to the kitchen and prepare the first servings for us, then put the rest in serving bowls like last night. Master goes to the refrigerator and gets a bottle of white wine.

"I was browsing online and one of the cooking sites suggested an Oregon pinot gris with etouffeé. I picked up a bottle of David Hill; sound good to you?"

"I've never had it but yes, it does sound good."

He opens the bottle and pours our glasses. We take our seats and in what seems to be turning into a ritual with us, we clink glasses and start our meal. He remarks on the taste, telling me that it's even better than last night. Even though we're trying to take our time and savor every bite, we rapidly devour everything, even using the bread to sop up the gravy.

As I'm cleaning up the dishes, Master looks at his watch and tells me it's one-thirty and he wants me in the playroom at one-forty-five. Even though I expected this, when he actually says it I get butterflies in my stomach.

* * *

I'm in position by the door of the playroom. The butterflies haven't gone away and now they're accompanied by wetness in my lady parts. I don't know what I'll do if I don't get some relief soon.

At last I hear the door open. I see Master's naked feet and almost swoon with desire. He's wearing his playroom jeans; he must have just showered because as he walks by I smell a fresh scent of jasmine.

I hear him walk over to the toy chest and it sounds like he's getting some items ready there. He comes back and stands in front of me, not saying anything for a minute or two, almost like he's studying me. It only adds to the butterflies in my stomach.

"Stand up, Severine." I comply immediately. "Hold out your hands." I hold them out and he cuffs them with the same handcuffs he used Friday evening. "Now lie face down on the bed." I walk over to the bed, crawl on top, and lie down in the middle.

"Bring your knees up so your ass is in the air," he orders; I do as he says. The strains of Dave Brubeck's _Take Five_ come softly over the speakers and it reminds me of when we had dinner together the first night I was here. I wonder if that's a good omen.

He crawls on the bed, kneels next to me, and pulls off my panties. I feel his hands massaging my ass, softly but firmly going from cheek to cheek. He stops for a second and then, whack! he slaps me with a paddle. He massages again and then whack! another strike of the paddle. It's a pattern familiar to me by now but this time there's an added twist. After the third or fourth slap I feel something inserted slightly in my butthole. At first I thought it was a butt plug but after another slap he pushes it in further and I realize it's anal beads. He continues paddling and inserting until they're in as far as they'll go.

He throws the paddle on the bed, spreads my legs, and kneels behind me. He starts massaging again but this time he intersperses it with soft little kisses. He moves down my right leg, kissing and massaging, slowly, gently, all the way down to my toes, then sucks gently on each of them. After that, he moves back up my leg, across and down the other one, sucks the toes on my left foot, then back up to my ass.

He stops and orders me to lie on my back and put my hands over my head. He gets off the bed for a moment and takes off his jeans. Climbing back on, he spreads my legs far apart, repeating the same routine on the front of my legs the way he did on the back: slow, sensual massage and soft, gentle kisses, interrupted only for toe-sucking. I'm at once relaxed and aroused, constantly aware of the anal beads in my ass.

This time when he makes his way back up to my crotch, he lifts my legs over his shoulders and starts gently licking my folds. His tongue swirls around my clit and darts in and out of my crevice. He's building me up again and the suspense is adding to my arousal.

After several minutes of eating me, he gently lowers me and proceeds to nip and kiss my torso, working up until he reaches my breasts. Straddling me around the thighs, he leans forward and pushes my tits together as close as they'll go. His tongue darts back and forth between each nipple, licking and sucking; the licks are gentle but the sucks are hard. _Holy shit, I am so fucking hot!_

He stops his oral assault and scoots up until his dick is on my mouth. I take him and work on him with my tongue, swirling and sucking. After a minute or two, he slides back, resting on my ribcage. He squeezes my tits together again and slides his dick between them. _Oh my, Master wants to titty-fuck! Well, bring it on, Sir!_

"Lick it, Severine," he orders me with a wicked grin, "catch it and lick it." He starts grinding his hips and I raise my head so that every time he comes forward I grab his dick with my mouth and give it a suck. It's a fun little game that we play for a while but my twat is getting seriously wet and feeling rather ignored.

As if reading my mind, he stops and orders me back on my knees. I'm thinking he'll paddle me again but instead he inserts his thumb in my cleft and presses my button with his fingers. He starts working me slowly and I'm building, building, building, _oh, man, I'm so close, come on, come on, come on!_ Until finally

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

He rips out the anal beads and

OMGOMGOMGOMG!

I can't help it, I roll over and flop around on the bed like a fish in a rowboat. It's going on for fucking ever.

Finally, I start coming down from it but just when I relax, he picks me up by my ass and starts licking my clit again. OH NONONONONO, a second one follows on the waves of the first; he lets up briefly and then starts again and I have another one. He stops, lowers me to the bed, then manually stimulates me until I have a fourth and fifth one. They've all diminished in intensity from the first but after a week of frustration each one of them still feels like the fireworks.

After the last one, rather than ordering me to turn over, he flips me over himself, raises my hips, and slams his dick into me. He pumps, hard, a punishing rhythm, grabbing my hips so hard it hurts, until he stops and I feel his release flow into me. He lets go of my hips and I immediately fall onto the bed; I have no strength whatsoever in my legs right now.

Master must feel the same way; he flops onto the bed beside me and lies very still. I turn my head towards him and tell him, "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Ms. Thibodeaux," he whispers, not turning towards me, just lying there with his eyes closed. I'm wondering if he's going to take a nap.

Again, as if he knows what I'm thinking, he sits up and gets off the bed. He finds his jeans and puts them on, then reaches into his pocket. He brings out the key to the handcuffs and unlocks them.

"Thank you for a lovely weekend, Severine. After you clean up the playroom, you're free to go. I'll see you on Friday at six. I hope you remember to drive safely," he tells me with a sardonic smile.

"I will, Sir. Thank you."

He heads out the door. I put away the handcuffs, put on my panties and robe, take the anal beads with me for cleaning, turn out the light, and lock the room.

Back in my bedroom, I clean the beads while I take a quick shower. I dry them off, then get dressed and pack my stuff. On my way out I make a quick run to the playroom to put them back in the toy chest, then head downstairs to the elevator. Another weekend at Escala is over.

* * *

Driving home I stick precisely to the speed limit. I can handle the physical pain that Master is capable of, but I'm not sure I can endure another weekend of orgasm denial. I park the car and head up to my apartment. Since there's plenty of time left in the day I'm thinking of doing some shopping. I let myself in and shut the door , then turn around and freeze.

Fuck. Someone's been here.


	11. Juju

I stand still and survey my apartment. It's not a big place; there's a living room, a galley kitchen with adjacent dining area, a bathroom, and a bedroom. There are several closets as well. I can see the whole living room and dining area from where I'm standing plus part of the kitchen and bedroom. I don't get a sense that someone's here right now, just the overwhelming feeling that he or she has been here while I was gone. Nevertheless, I'd better make sure no one's hiding here. Unfortunately, the only weapon I have available is a pocket knife in my purse. I take it out and leave everything else on the floor.

The guest closet is closest to me so I fling open the door and look inside; it's empty. I make my way to the bedroom, verifying that the kitchen and bathroom are empty. It's possible someone's hiding in the cabinets under the sinks but since that's highly unlikely, I'll check those in a minute. I check the linen and broom closets and they're clear. The bedroom is empty and I make my way to its closet. I hold my breath as I slide the door to one side but it, too, is empty.

I go back and check under both sinks, now feeling rather silly. As I go to get my things where I left them by the door, something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look at the cocktail table in the living room and there's a dvd sitting on top of it. The last dvd I watched was the porn video the night before my first session with Master and I know I put that away the next morning. When I look closely, my stomach drops. The movie is _Play Misty for Me_.

A couple of years ago I went through a Clint Eastwood phase and bought several of his movies. They're mixed in with the other dvds on the bookcase next to the tv. I can't remember the last time I watched this movie but I know it's been months, at least. Whoever was here obviously felt she had enough time to browse through my collection and chose this one as a message. I say "she" because I'm starting to think Mystery Lookalike Chick is somehow connected, if not directly involved.

I take a minute for some deep breaths to calm myself down. While I'm putting away my things I start mentally listing the things I need to do. Most important, I need to get the locks changed, so I need to contact building management. Also, I want to talk with my neighbors to find out if they've seen anything unusual.

But right now, I need to check if some stuff I had hidden in my closet is still there. I'm nervous about it, knowing MLC had all weekend to search my apartment. As I lower myself to the floor I carefully scan the piles of boxes and bags on one side of the closet, then move the sliding door to scan the other side. The memory of last week's feeling that someone had gone through my purse comes back to me now. I'm not as anal about closet junk as I am about my purse but I know things have been moved here.

Going back to the other side I move the stack of shoeboxes that are in the corner and retrieve the one that's second from the bottom. Opening it I breathe a sigh of relief that the contents are still intact. I put the other boxes back and take this one with me to the living room, leaving it on the cocktail table next to the dvd. I'll come back to it after I've taken care of a few other things.

Next I fire up the laptop so I can access the building management website and request a change of locks. Since I haven't had a break-in this is going to cost me and as I fill out the form I start to get really pissed. I'm pretty much of a pacifist and I believe in live and let live so having someone violate my space this way doesn't make any sense to me. I'm going to find out who did this and make sure it doesn't happen again.

After sending the request to management, I get a screwdriver and small stepladder from the broom closet. I unscrew the air vent grill in the dining room and retrieve something else my dad gave me when I left for Seattle: a Ruger SR22 pistol. I have to clean it and then go out to a range to brush up on my shooting but until MLC is caught, or at least dealt with, I'm going to keep this baby handy. The box also contains my concealed pistol license, which I got as soon as I became a Washington resident. Social workers go into rough neighborhoods and I wanted the option of being able to protect myself. Up until now I've never felt the need and it really burns my ass to feel I need it now in my own home.

So much for any shopping I thought I might do. It's late enough to start thinking about supper but I really don't have much of an appetite right now. Besides the shock of having my home invaded I'm still rather full from lunch. But I need to eat, so I turn on the oven and get a small pizza from the freezer. There's a bottle of chianti in the wine rack so I open it and pour myself a glass. This will help me calm down and plan my next steps carefully.

Once the pizza's in the oven I settle down on the couch and contemplate the contents of the shoebox. All weekend long I've been reminded of my Cajun roots and all the little objects in the box are part of them.

Most families have a relative or two who hang really far out on a branch of the family tree and our family was no exception. Tante Juliette, or Tonty Juju as we called her (not realizing then the significance of the term juju), was really my mother's aunt. She lived out in the bayou and I'd go stay with her at least once every summer. We'd also visit her from time to time during the rest of the year. She was fiercely independent and whenever her daughters (my aunts) would suggest a living arrangement that was more suitable to her advanced age, she'd smack them down. My cousins were afraid of her, but for whatever reason, she seemed to take a liking to me. I was fascinated by the way she lived, keeping chickens and tending a small garden. She even had a pirogue that she got around in and when I visited her, she'd take me for a ride, showing me things in the swamps that I never saw in the city. She was a strong believer in the power of plants and herbs, making potions and poultices and other things for healing.

She taught me lots of things and told me stories of times long gone. Like most of my family, she was raised Catholic but had stopped attending regular services many years ago and her beliefs became an amalgam of traditional dogma, voodoo influences from her Creole neighbors, and her own study of the world around her. Her weird philosophy was probably what scared off my cousins but it fascinated me.

Her belief in God was not the traditional old man with long white hair and beard who sat on clouds and ran everything; rather, her God was a somewhat neutral overseer of the universe. Likewise, evil was not something created by devils; it was a human invention. She believed that there were powers in the cosmos that could be called upon to protect oneself as well as powers we can draw upon inside ourselves.

The memories fill my mind as I look over the items in the shoe box. She gave them to me the last time I saw her, before I moved to Seattle, and told me I would know when the time came to use them. That time is now.

The oven timer goes off, interrupting my thoughts. I get my pizza and return to the living room. As I sip my wine and munch on pizza, I think about what I'm going to do. The box contains several small strips of leather, about the size of a personal check. There's a vial containing soil from Tonty Juju's garden. Another vial contains a mixture of something that looks like herbs but I suspect there's more than that. Tonty made this especially for me but I didn't want to know what was really in it. She wanted me to learn her rituals but I wasn't ready or maybe it was that I didn't truly believe the same way she did. The only time I paid any sort of attention was when she made a gris-gris.

Gris-gris have been around for centuries, originating in tribal Africa. They made their way to the New World and became part of the religious subcultures of the Caribbean islands and the backwaters of Louisiana. Making one is an intensely personal process, taking into account the person and purpose for which it's made. Tonty stressed to me that one does not make a gris-gris for frivolous reasons but only in times of danger or great need. I definitely feel like I'm in danger.

I finish my pizza, put the dishes in the sink, and pour myself some more wine. Back in the living room, I light some candles and close the drapes. I make the sign of the cross and take one of the leather strips from the box. Up until now, I haven't touched the dvd but I hold it down on the table with my thumb and index finger, grasping the corners so it won't move. Using the leather, I wipe up and down the front cover, and up and down the binding. I flip it over and wipe the back cover. Lookalike Mystery Chick touched this and unless she used gloves, she must have left some of the oils from her hand on it, so now they're transferred to the leather. Even if she did use gloves, by handling the case she's left part of her essence on it.

The shoebox also contains a large needle and some cord made by Tonty. I fold the leather strip in half and sew up the sides, keeping the part that touched the dvd on the inside. I open the vial of earth and sprinkle a little inside the newly-formed pouch, then do the same with the vial of herbal mixture. Using the needle, I prick my little finger and squeeze a drop or two of blood into the pouch. Throughout this whole process I've kept the image of my stalker in my mind, visualizing everything I can remember about her.

After adding the blood, I use the needle to sew up the opening of the pouch. Holding it in my hand, I look at it and recite:

_At Tara today in this fateful hour  
__I place all Heaven with its power,  
__And the sun with its brightness,  
__And the snow with its whiteness,  
__And fire with all the strength it hath,  
__And lightning with its rapid wrath,  
__And the winds with their swiftness along their path,  
__And the sea with its deepness,  
__And the rocks with their steepness,  
__And the earth with its starkness  
__All these I place,  
__By God's almighty help and grace,  
__Between myself and the powers of darkness._

One of my favorite authors, Madeleine L'Engle, wrote this in her book _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_; she called it the rune of Saint Patrick and it's based on an old Irish Lorica, or prayer of protection. I've adopted it as my personal song of comfort when I feel threatened. Even though its origin is Irish, L'Engle is French and I've always felt a strong connection with these words.

The gris-gris will stay here. Right now, its purpose is protection but should LMC decide to escalate her attacks on me, I can decide to use it against her. Tonty told me of gris-gris that she made that caused illness or misfortune to people who'd crossed her. I took such stories with a grain of salt and even now, I'm wondering if this is all just an exercise in superstition. I'm what's called a lapsed Catholic and my own beliefs about God, the universe, and our place in it are still a work in progress. But when frightened or threatened, we frequently resort to the comforts of our childhood and that's what I've done.

The last thing I do is take out Tonty's rosary from the box. She had several and this one was from her First Communion. I haven't prayed the rosary since grade school but these things, once learned, never leave you, and I start the familiar words of the Apostles' Creed.

After going through all five decades of the rosary, I put the remaining items back in the shoebox and put it back in my closet. I get the gun and spend the next half hour cleaning it. Tomorrow after my session with Claude I'll find a shooting range and spend some time on target practice. For now, I put the gun under my pillow, just in case.

Before going to bed I put a chair under the entry door knob as a precaution. I don't think she'll try anything while I'm here but just the fact that she has a key to my apartment means I shouldn't take any chances.

So now, I've taken physical and psychic precautions. Starting tomorrow, I'll do some investigating. I'll also see about setting up some electronic surveillance. If LMC continues her stalking, I'll teach her an important lesson: don't fuck with a Cajun.


	12. Guns and Posers

I'm awakened the next morning when my hand slides under the pillow and feels the cold steel of the pistol. My mind immediately starts cycling through yesterday's events: Mystery Lookalike Chick in Starbucks, etouffeé for lunch, my wonderfully orgasmic session with Master, and the troubling discovery when I arrived home. The anger I felt last night returns with a vengeance. I mean, shit, I couldn't even enjoy my afterglow because some mofo decides to put me in her crosshairs and I have no fucking clue as to why.

The alarm clock says 5:30 so I might as well get up. Today will be very busy; I've got my session with Claude at seven, then a cohort meeting at eleven. After lunch I want to go to the shooting range and get reacquainted with my pistol. Some time this evening or tomorrow I need to go to a computer shop and see what I can set up for remote monitoring of my apartment. Along the way I also need to talk with my neighbors. All this, and I still have work to do for my classes and thesis.

After yoga and yogurt I head to the gym. It feels weird to be carrying the gun with me but I'm not taking any chances. When I see Claude I ask him if we could do some kickboxing. He's an Olympic-grade athlete in the sport and right now I think kickboxing would be very useful to me. Even though I'm packing I don't want to use the gun unless I have to.

He's surprised but very amenable. Last week our sessions were all cardio and weight-training so this will be a nice change of pace; he cuts the cardio and weight-training to fifteen minutes each and spends a half hour teaching me the basics of kick-boxing. It's quite grueling but it really feels good to have a physical release for all the anger I've been feeling since yesterday afternoon. We've only touched the basics but I'm looking forward to learning more.

As I put the key in the lock of my apartment door I hear my neighbor's door open. Aaron's a med student who keeps odd hours so I take this chance to see if he's seen anything weird around my place.

"Hey, Aaron, how's it goin'?"

"Same old, same old, med school's kicking my ass. How about with you? I gave you a shout out when I saw you leave on Saturday but I guess you didn't hear me."

"Saturday? Are you sure? I wasn't here Saturday."

"Really? That's weird. If it wasn't you, it was someone who sure looked like you. Of course, I only saw her from the back but she had the same long, dark hair and her build was the same as yours. Something going on?"

"Yeah, someone was in my apartment while I was gone over the weekend.

"Oh, shit! Did they take anything?"

"Not that I could see. You've got my cell, right?"

"Sure do. What do you need?"

"Just give me a call or send me a text if you see her again, would you please? I'm going to be gone weekends for the next couple months so if you'd keep an eye out for anything strange around my place, I'd appreciate it. I notified management to get the locks changed and I'm looking into some sort of video surveillance but even though your schedule's crazy, just knowing you're looking out for me is a big help."

"Sure thing, Severine. Say, my brother, Zack, works for a company that sells security equipment, maybe he can help you."

"That would be great! Text me his contact info and I'll get in touch with him."

"Will do. Good luck with catching whoever it is. If you feel the need, you're welcome to stay at my place."

"Thanks, Aaron, I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Gotta run. Let me know what's going on and if you need anything else."

"Later, Aaron. Thanks again!"

He bounds down the stairs and I go into my apartment. It doesn't feel like anyone's been here but I do a walk-through just to make sure. It's empty, and again I feel a mixture of relief and foolishness. I can't wait until the locks are changed and the video surveillance is in place. I hate feeling like I have to check my home for intruders every time I walk in the door.

After a quick shower I grab my laptop (and gun) and head to Starbucks for a mini-breakfast, schoolwork, and some other tasks before my cohort meeting. It's a beautiful day, so with latte and breakfast sandwich in hand I take a table outside. My first order of business is to call my mom. With all the bullshit yesterday, I forgot our weekly Skype session.

She and my dad are both doing fine but she's getting more and more concerned about the wildlife in the Gulf being harmed by the oil spill. The really strange thing she mentions is that she got a call from Tonty Juju yesterday evening; Tonty was checking with her to make sure I was okay. I felt a shiver run down my spine when she said this but I think I did a good job of hiding it. That's the down side to Skype – it's much more difficult to hide your feelings.

After our call I check my email and see a response from the building management telling me they'll change my locks tomorrow morning. They give me a time window of eight to noon so I call Claude to see if we can bump up our training session a half hour. It's no problem for him so I change my calendar to reflect the time change and add an alarm to make sure I get up in time.

Finally, the last thing I do before I start schoolwork is to make an appointment at Champion Arms in Kent to use the range. They have a slot at two-thirty so I put it in my calendar. As I'm doing that my phone buzzes; it's a text from Aaron with info for the shop where his brother works. Hooray! It's in Kent too, so I can do both in one trip.

As I'm sitting there with my head bent over my phone, Erika sticks her head in, looking up at me. "Teebs?" she asks.

I jump back, startled. "What the fuck, Erika!"

"Sorry, just wanted to make sure it was you," she says as she straightens up. "Didn't want to embarrass myself like I did Saturday."

"What are you talking about? How did you embarrass yourself Saturday?"

"I saw this chick sitting here just like you are and from the back she was a dead ringer for you so I snuck up behind her, covered her eyes with my hands, and said 'guess who?' When she said 'I don't know' I realized it wasn't you. I was totally embarrassed and apologized all over the place." She plops down on the chair across from me and spreads her stuff out on her side of the table. "But even when I saw her face there was such a strong resemblance it really creeped me out."

"What did she say?" I ask.

"Oh, she told me it was no biggie but then she started asking all sorts of questions about you."

"What!?"

"Yeah, and I knew she didn't know you 'cuz she pronounced your name SEVver-in, not sevREEN like it's supposed to be."

"What did she ask you?"

"Lots of weird shit, like how long did I know you? Did I know where you were? Do you have a boyfriend? When I wouldn't answer that shut her down. When I asked her name, she said it's not important; she told me 'I'm nobody.' I remember those exact words 'cuz it sounded so strange and she had this bizarre affect when she said them. What's going on, Teeby?"

"My apartment was broken into over the weekend."

"Oh, shit! No!"

"Well, technically, it wasn't broken into because whoever got in had a key; she didn't break anything to get in. But someone was definitely there and left me a message."

"What message?"

"She took my dvd of _Play Misty for Me_ and left it very conspicuously on the cocktail table. I haven't watched that movie in months so I know it wasn't me who left it there."

"Oh, man, that's scary. You sure it was a woman?"

"Not positive but yeah, pretty sure. The chick that looks like me? I saw her here last week and again yesterday morning in the Pike Place Market Starbucks. I'm being stalked, Erika."

"Fuck, Teebs, you don't need that shit. That's awful."

"I know. And just so you know, I'm carrying." I see her face drop; I'm well aware of how she feels about guns.

"Aw, Teeby, you really need to do that?"

"Yes, Erika, I do. Until this is dealt with for good, I want to be able to protect myself." I can tell by her expression that she's not happy but she knows better than to argue with me about this. "Besides, I've taken other steps – I'm having my locks changed and I'm going to talk to Aaron's brother about setting up some surveillance in the apartment."

"Aaron has a brother?"

"Apparently. He works for some kind of equipment shop in Kent, which works out well because that's where I'm going this afternoon to do some target shooting. Do me a favor. If you see Ms. Nobody again would you please let me know? I think it's time to confront this chick. But enough of this, how are you doing?" Erika goes on to tell me about her weekend and after that we dig into the case studies we're working on with the cohort.

* * *

The cohort meeting took longer than usual, mainly because we scheduled visits to the families of the case studies we're working on. It took some finagling but Erika and I managed to get scheduled together and also managed to exclude the obnoxious Bella.

So after a quick lunch I'm on my way to Kent to do some target shooting. It's quite a haul down the 405 and I'm doing my best to stay within the speed limit. I'm watching the traffic around me and notice that this black Audi SUV has been behind me for quite a while. The driver is a buzz-cut guy wearing sunglasses. When I take the exit for Kent, he takes it, too and when I pull into the parking lot for Champion's he also pulls in.

He parks in a space one over from me and we get out of our cars at the same time. He's wearing a well-cut suit and looks like some kind of Fed. He sees me looking at him and gives me a brief nod and a small smile. I'm astounded when he heads for the door to Champion's and holds it open for me. He waits behind me at the counter while I get my ear protectors, goggles, targets, and ammo. As I walk to my lane I hear him order the same things and as I'm getting everything ready I see him doing the same thing in the next lane.

This is all so very odd but I try hard to put it out of my mind for now. I came here to practice and I need to concentrate on that, seeing as the meter's running. I set up my target at twenty-five feet and start taking shots. It's been a while and I'm a little agitated so at first I'm all over the place but after a few minutes I start to concentrate and soon I'm hitting the target closer and closer to where it should be.

After about fifteen minutes I take a break and watch Mr. Suit next to me. He's shooting a Walther PPK – how very James Bond – and I'm even more convinced that he's some kind of Fed, especially since he's having no problem whatsoever hitting his target, even though he has it set at seventy-five feet.

I go back to working on my accuracy and by the time my session is done, I'm feeling pretty confident that I can accurately hit someone who's entering my apartment uninvited. I haven't set the target beyond twenty-five feet since a twenty-two isn't worth much beyond that. This is more for close-up self-defense; I'm not practicing to be a sniper. I do notice, however, that Mr. Suit is now practicing with his target at a hundred feet and is doing a damn good job.

When I leave Champion's, Mr. Suit doesn't follow me out and I'm somewhat surprised. I get in the car and head over to the surveillance shop. I find that it's really not a shop, it's headquarters for a firm that sells surveillance equipment, obviously a big firm since the offices are rather nice. I walk in and ask for Zack; he comes to the lobby a couple minutes after being paged.

We go back to his office and I explain what happened and what I want. All I need is a camera system that will monitor my apartment, run over my wifi, and is accessible over the internet so I can check it periodically. Ideally, it would notify me if there's an intrusion while I'm away. Zack tells me that the firm he works for provides these services to commercial clients but he can personally set something up for me that should be relatively inexpensive. He gives me examples of some options and we set up a time for him to come to my place tomorrow morning; that's when my locks will be changed so I might as well take care of both things at once. I thank him and head out to my car.

It's been an exhausting couple of days and right now I just want to relax. I decide on a nice, leisurely dinner at the neighborhood pizzeria. I know it's early but I'm planning on a full course meal: wine, salad, pasta, dessert, and espresso. As I drive back up the 405, I'm looking around me as usual and I don't notice any cars that seem to be on my tail. As I pull into the parking lot I check around me again and don't see either Mr. Suit or Ms. Nobody. Maybe, just maybe, I can enjoy my meal in peace.

After a couple of glasses of pinot grigio and a huge plate of cheese ravioli, I'm enjoying tiramisú and cappuccino when my Blackberry buzzes. There's an email from Master.

From: Christian Grey  
Subject: Additional time  
Date: May 17 2010 06: 33  
To: Severine M. Thibodeaux

Ms. Thibodeaux,

As per paragraphs 12 and 14 of our contract, I would like you to make yourself available this Wednesday evening at six-thirty. Meet me at Escala and I will give you further instructions.

If you have a conflict with that time, please respond immediately; otherwise, I expect to see you then.

Christian Grey  
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I wonder what this means; it's hard to tell from the message what frame of mind Master is in. As if I didn't have enough to worry about, for the next forty-eight hours, I'll be thinking about what he has in store for me.


	13. Safe and Secure

For the first time in a very long time I wake to the alarm. I have just enough time to get dressed, have a yogurt, and get to the gym for my session with Claude. Shit! To top it all off, I got my period. Damn!

Claude is waiting when I arrive and tells me we'll start with the kickboxing. Since I surprised him with my request yesterday, that session was improvised but today it's more focused. I'd explained to him that my purpose in learning this was primarily defensive, so we concentrate on those moves. When our hour is up, I feel energized and empowered.

Back at my apartment, I only have a few minutes to shower and dress before the locksmith is due to arrive. While I'm waiting, I eat my breakfast, check email, and start on schoolwork. I get a call from Zack telling me traffic is horrible so he'll be a little late. As soon as I hang up with him, there's a knock at the door. I look through the peephole, see a man standing there, and ask, "Who is it?" "Locksmith, ma'am," he answers. I cautiously open the door and look at the i.d. he shows me. For what it's worth, it looks official so I let him in.

Changing the lock is not very time-consuming and he's done in less than half an hour. He gives me my new keys and as he's leaving, Zack buzzes me to be let in. He comes up the stairs with a wheeled briefcase and a couple of boxes strapped to it. He sets them down in my living room and takes a look around.

"Is this door the only entrance into the apartment?" he asks.

"Yep," I answer, "and since we're on the third floor, the only way to get in through the windows is to be Spiderman."

"Okay, so if we just monitor the door and most of the living room that should be enough."

"Sounds good to me." He gets to work, asking only for the wifi code and my cell number, and after about forty-five minutes he's ready to show me what I need to know. When the system is activated, it will send me a text alert if there is movement in the living room. At that point, I can log into a website that will let me see what's happening on live video; best of all, it will start recording at that point and stop after three minutes without any motion. Before entering the apartment I can send it a text with a code to deactivate it, otherwise I can just turn it off. It's rather simple technology; the motion sensor and camera are hidden on the side of the bookcase. If he hadn't shown them to me, I wouldn't know they were there. He writes up the invoice and I settle it with my credit card.

So now I've taken all the steps I can to ensure my safety, both physically and psychically. If she gets physically threatening, I'm reasonably confident I'll be able to deal with her. I don't know if Ms. Nobody made a copy of my key or picked my lock but whatever she did, I'll be alerted if she enters my apartment again. I still have to decide what to do if that happens but for now, I'll let my subconscious work on that.

I have most of the day to prepare myself for tomorrow's cohort meeting and class. I start working on my case reviews, preparing myself for the site visits we'll be doing on Thursday. Wednesday will be a busy day with all of that, plus my ad hoc session with Master.

* * *

The weather is rather crappy when I wake up Wednesday morning. It's gotten cooler over the last couple days and there's just enough spitty rain to be annoying. Unlike yesterday, it's early enough that I can do yoga before my training session. In spite of the weather, it feels good to settle back into my regular routine after the drama of the last couple days.

The day goes by quickly, probably because both the cohort meeting and my afternoon class were extremely intense. I'm somewhat nervous about the case visits tomorrow and discussing the dynamics of the families involved did nothing to calm my nerves.

Thank goodness I was able to eat my lunch and grab a coffee at Starbucks without running into Ms. Nobody or Mr. Suit. It's now time to get ready for my evening session with Master. I'm not sure whether he'll want me for an hour, two hours, or all night long but I prepare for overnight, just in case. That means inserting my Softcup so my period doesn't interfere with any playroom activities. I don't know how Master feels about menstruation but this way it's not an issue. He didn't specify whether I'd be having dinner with him so I had a big lunch and now I'll have a small snack.

When I enter Escala, Taylor greets me, takes my case, and tells me I'm expected in the kitchen. Mrs. Jones is there and she has a small dinner prepared for me. She informs me that Mr. Grey expects me at seven and I should just leave my dishes on the breakfast bar, she'll clean them up later. After she leaves, I dig into the salad, steak au poivre, and steamed broccoli that she's made, washing it all down with a rather robust red wine. The wine is just the thing I need to calm me down and get me in the right frame of mind.

As instructed, I leave the dishes on the breakfast bar and go to my room to get ready. After braiding my hair and donning my panties, I head to the playroom in my robe and have just gotten into position by the door when Master enters the room. I hear him go through the familiar routine, pulling out toys from the chest, turning on the music. The strains of a Chopin polonaise are playing softly in the background now.

"Get up!" he barks as he walks toward me. "Hold your hands out!" I do so and he slaps a pair of metal handcuffs on them. I'm thinking that this is not going to be an easy session. He stands behind me and grabs my braid at the root. He tugs it, somewhat roughly, and I move to my left until I'm standing under the grid. "Put your hands over your head," he says as he grabs the shackle from the ceiling. I comply very quickly and he snaps the shackle to the handcuffs. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a sleep mask and slips it over my eyes.

As always happens when I'm blindfolded, my other senses are heightened. I feel his hands on my breasts; he starts pinching my nipples with his fingers. The pinching increases in intensity and when I think I can't take it, he stops for a few seconds. Next thing I feel is nipple clamps being attached. These feel different from the pair that he used previously; they're a lot stronger and more painful. He gives them a good tug and the feeling is pure agony.

He slides my panties down my legs and I step out of them. I hear him walk away and when he returns he grabs my ankle and slaps a cuff around it. When he grabs the other ankle and also cuffs it, I realize I'm now attached to a spreader bar. He ratchets it out to what I think is maximum distance. I'm suspended, immobile, and totally exposed.

Smack! I feel a sharp sting on my left asscheek; I think it's a riding crop. Smack! He hits the other one. These are not light taps; he's definitely putting some force in them. He whacks me up and down my back, several times, slowly. He comes around front and hits me, hard, on top of the left nipple clamp. Shit, this hurts! Another hard smack on the right nipple clamp and the pain is excruciating but, as usually happens, the moistness between my legs increases. The next strike of the crop is right there. Master is expert at reading my body's signals.

He rubs my crotch with the crop, inserting it ever so slightly between my pussy lips. I feel it being withdrawn, the next thing I feel is the crop being inserted in my mouth. "Suck," he orders and I do so, licking it voraciously. He takes it back and proceeds to whack me up and down my front - legs, tits, crotch, several times over, each time increasing the force with which he hits me. He switches back and forth between my front and my back, occasionally brushing my twat with the crop and making me lick it.

He finally pauses and I hear him throw the crop on the floor. With my heightened sense of hearing I can detect a slight increase in his breathing rate. My skin feels like it's on fire and I sense him standing in front of me, possibly admiring his handiwork. He yanks my hands down and unhooks the carabiner.

After taking off the nipple clamps, he picks me up and carries me over to the whipping bench, laying me on top of it face down. It sounds like he's walking over to the implement rack and when I hear the swish of a cane being whipped through the air, I know I'm right.

My legs are still separated by the spreader bar and lying face down on the bench is pressing into my sore nipples. The soreness is forgotten, though, when I feel the smack of the cane on my buttocks. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep me from crying out. He pauses to let the after-sting take effect, then smacks me again, a little lower. He continues this down to my knees, then back up again, always pausing before hitting me again. It hurts so much, tears are coming to my eyes. But, paradoxically, my nether regions are soaking.

After about six or eight strokes (I've lost count by now), he stops and removes the spreader bar. I hear the familiar zipper being lower and before I know it, he slams into me, grabbing my hips with a viselike grip and pounding the shit out of me.

"You. may. come." he tells me between thrusts and with those words I find release. He continues hammering me until finally I feel the familiar gush down my legs and he stills, breathing heavily. After a few seconds he withdraws. I press my legs together with a feeling of extreme relief.

I hear him zip up his pants and walk over to the toy chest. He comes back, stands by me, and takes off the mask. "Turn over," he orders me. I see the arnica cream in his hands and he proceeds to rub it over my body.

"So, Ms. Thibodeaux," he says quietly, "would you tell me why you feel you need to go target shooting?" His eyes are boring into mine and I debate whether to tell him the whole truth or just part of it. I start with the part I think he'll find acceptable.

"Part of my coursework this term involves site visits to the cases we're studying. We'll be going into some rough areas of the city and I wanted to make sure I could protect myself. I have a concealed pistol license and just needed to get some practice." It's rather obvious to me now that Mr. Suit is in Mr. Grey's employ and that's how he found out.

"I see. When will you be doing these site visits?"

"The first one is tomorrow morning."

"Well, then, Ms. Thibodeaux," he motions me to turn over as he says this, "much as I admire your ability to take care of yourself – and I'm glad you asked Claude to teach you kickboxing – I need to ensure your safety. Taylor's assistant, Sawyer, will be watching you tomorrow. You may have met him already."

"I think I've seen him, yes."

"Very good. I want you to know, Ms. Thibodeaux," and here he bends down so he's speaking very close to my ear, "that if you ever feel yourself in danger, you are to let me know immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you be staying the night?" he asks as he stands up.

I've been debating this in my mind the last few minutes and I decide I really don't feel like driving back to the apartment.

"Yes, sir, but I have to leave early."

"That's fine. I'll make sure Mrs. Jones has breakfast prepared for you. You can clean up here now and I'll see you on Friday."

"Thank you, sir."

He removes the handcuffs, helps me off the bench, and leaves the room. I tidy up, a quick process since there's not much to clean, just a few things to put away. Donning my robe, I turn out the lights, lock up, and head over to my room.

The first thing I do is check my phone to see if there's been a text from my video monitor. I'm so relieved to find there hasn't been; it's been an exhausting day and I don't think I can deal with any more issues. I drop my robe on the floor, crawl into bed, and within a couple of minutes I'm in a deep sleep.


	14. Doing Penance

Morning light wakes me. I open my eyes and the first thing I see is a glass of orange juice and two white pills sitting on the nightstand. They're very much appreciated, since I'm aching all over my body. I down them quickly and head to the bathroom. Since I need to get out of here soon I'm really glad I packed my overnight case. After only fifteen minutes of yoga, I throw on my workout clothes, gather my stuff, and go downstairs to the kitchen.

I'm just finishing up the yogurt parfait I threw together when Mrs. Jones walks in. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Thibodeaux, I was supposed to fix you breakfast."

"That's all right, Mrs. Jones, I had some yogurt; I don't eat very heavily in the morning before my workout. Have a nice day," and I go get the elevator. Yesterday I asked Claude to make this another early morning like Monday to make sure I have enough time before I need to be at the apartment of our case study.

By eight o'clock I'm done with my training, I've showered, dressed, had breakfast, and I'm on my way to meet Erika. She's driving since where we're going, her Kia will be less conspicuous than my Audi. En route to the client's home, we review the facts of the case. Rhia is a six-year-old girl who came to class several times with burns on her arms; she's now in the system after getting reported by her first-grade teacher. Kelly, her caseworker and the leader for our practicum, has made several home visits and detailed the issues she found.

Rhia's mother, Casey, is twenty-three; until five months ago she worked at a fast food restaurant but was fired for stealing from the register. Casey has another daughter, Bree, who is three and stays with her during the day. The girls' father, according to the notes, moved to California two years ago and hasn't communicated with either his daughters or their mother since then. Child Protective Services has not been able to locate him.

The mother's boyfriend, Randy, also lives in the apartment but it's not clear what he does for a living. When briefing us on the case, Kelly says she suspects drug dealing is involved but she won't put that in any report without proof. Kelly also thinks Casey might be an addict but doesn't have proof of that either.

Their home is in the Ranier Valley area of Seattle. Many parts of it have gentrified but there are still many parts that most people would consider slums. The apartment we're going to is in one of these areas. I'm glad I have my gun with me and grateful for Claude's kickboxing tutelage. A black Audi suv's followed us here and as Erika parks the car, I notice it park not too far away. When we get out, the driver also gets out and I recognize the man I now know as Sawyer. He's wearing a navy blue hoody, Mariners cap, torn jeans, and Chucks. He leans against his car and gives me a small nod, then starts chewing on a toothpick. He's doing an okay job of blending in, although if I were from this neighborhood I'd make him for a narc.

Erika notices me looking at him and asks, "Know that guy?" I tell her I think he's protection, courtesy of my benefactor. She nods and drops the subject. Kelly joins us and we head for the apartment. As we walk, she reminds us that we are there only to observe; we're not to say anything.

It's in an old, rundown building. The hallway and stairwell stink of urine, alcohol, and pot. We climb the stairs to the second floor; the apartment's all the way at the end. It's nine o'clock on a Thursday morning when we knock on the door but the woman who answers it is still in her night clothes. Kelly reminds her of the appointment, explains about Erika and me, and she grudgingly lets us in.

Squalor is everywhere. The furniture is ancient and filthy; the walls haven't been painted in years, maybe decades. The place reeks of cigarette smoke. There's a twin-sized mattress in a corner of the living room and a little girl, who I presume is Bree, plays with a toy car on a threadbare, dirty rug. She's wearing a stained pink dress and has smears of food on her face.

We're told over and over not to be judgmental but everything in me wants to shake this woman and tell her to get control of her life. When she speaks with Kelly, her affect is lethargic and I'm thinking she's high on whatever substances she abuses. She lights a cigarette and ignores Kelly's request to put it out. When asked where Randy is, she says she doesn't know. I've been here barely a minute and I can't wait to leave.

We tour the apartment, which takes hardly any time; it's a small one-bedroom unit. There's a mattress on the floor in the bedroom, only one, so my guess is that the girls sleep on the one in the living room. The kitchen looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a long time; dishes are piled in the sink and on the stove. I'm not claustrophobic but I really want to get out of this place.

Unfortunately, Kelly has to stay and complete her interview and assessment. Erika and I observe them, taking notes on the conversation while we watch Bree playing. She seems a bright enough little girl, zooming her toy car all along the carpet and crawling around but I'm sickened when I see what I think are burn marks on her arms, possibly from cigarettes. As I said, this is what led the teacher to report Rhia. It also brings back the memory of the scars I saw on Master. Is this what made him like he is? Did he suffer the same traumas? I never did the research on him that I'd planned but I resolve to do it soon.

Kelly wraps up the interview and we leave the apartment. On our way back to our cars we decide to meet at the Starbucks back on campus to compare notes and discuss the case. As I get into Erika's car I notice Sawyer sitting inside the suv, watching me. I nod at him and he acknowledges it. He follows us back to campus but I don't see him after we enter Starbucks.

We spend the rest of the morning going over the meeting and what ways this family can be helped. Kelly leaves us at lunch time but before she goes, she tells us to stay closely in touch with her. She might need us to help her should anything develop that would endanger the children, thus forcing the department to remove them.

Erika and I decide on Chinese for lunch and while we eat, we talk about our observations this morning. The conversation then digresses to my updates on the break-in. She offered to let me stay with her but I assure her I'm in no danger. Between my surveillance system, my gun, the kickboxing, and Sawyer, I think Ms. Nobody is the one in danger at this point.

Back at my apartment, I take a nap. With all that's happened this week, I'm physically and emotionally exhausted. I fall asleep with visions of the upcoming weekend in my head. I'm so looking forward to having someone else make all (or at least most) of my decisions for me.

I awake with my psyche clouded by the remnants of a strange dream that I can't remember. Some herbal tea and junk tv dissipate the bad mood and after that I delve into my coursework. It feels good to be able to spend a normal, drama-free afternoon and evening, and the time passes quickly.

Friday morning and afternoon are the usual prep for the weekend and when Friday evening arrives, I'm actually in a somewhat more serene state of mind. Thoughts of the little girl I saw yesterday are still in the back of my head but I think I'll be able to keep them there, at least until Sunday evening, I hope.

I arrive at the penthouse, and after Taylor takes my bags, I walk towards the kitchen and am surprised to find two place settings on the breakfast bar. I'm also surprised to hear Master playing the piano. He sees me and winks but continues playing. It's a solo piano arrangement of Rachmaninov's _Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini_; it's full and lush and absolutely beautiful. I sit on the large u-shaped couch, rest my arm on the back, put my chin in my hand, and just absorb the music.

When he finishes I clap my hands enthusiastically and ask him to play the eighteenth variation again. He complies and I close my eyes, losing myself in that beautiful melody. He plays it a third time without my asking but this time when it ends he gets up and starts the mp3 player. The full orchestral version comes over the speakers but while I enjoy it, I think I actually prefer his solo piano version.

He pours some wine into the glasses on the breakfast bar and brings them over to the sofa. He hands me mine and we clink.

"Well, Ms. Thibodeaux, it looks like you've had a very interesting week."

"Yes, Sir, I have," I answer, not sure where he's going with this.

"Care to talk about it?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure…"

"You may relax, Severine," he interrupts. "So how was your site visit yesterday?"

"Well, I can't say very much for reasons of confidentiality," I start.

"I understand," he interrupts again. "Tell me how it affected you."

I look at him, direct eye contact, and I want to say how I really felt, that it reminded me of him but I know I can't do that. Instead, I take a different tack.

"Do you ever wonder why we are the way we are?" I ask.

His eyebrows shoot up; after a second or two, he resumes his normal impassive expression and takes a sip of wine. "I've thought about it many a time, Severine, and I finally decided it doesn't matter. We are who we are and as long as it's between consenting human adults, it's no one else's business. I take it you have some thoughts on this."

"I'm sure you're familiar with the flagellants of medieval Europe," I start.

"I am." He raises an eyebrow.

"Then as you know, they whipped themselves as a form of penance. When I go into a home like the one I visited yesterday, I feel like I need to do penance for the wrongs that are being done there. I know that sounds crazy but you asked how it affects me. It's like, if I take on enough pain, maybe there will be some cosmic balance in the world and others will suffer less."

He's listening intently. I take a sip of wine and continue, "Mind you, that's not the only reason I'm into BDSM, but days like yesterday play a big role. I was so fortunate to have two parents who loved me, wanted only the best for me, sacrificed for me, and here are these innocent little kids with a mother who can't even bother to clean them up. After visiting a home like the one I went to, I just can't wrap my brain around the injustice in the world, so this is one way I deal with it."

That's the first time I've ever divulged to anyone how my lifestyle and my work interact. He seems deep in thought, staring into his wine glass, slowly swirling the liquid around. Finally, he looks up at me and says, "I see. I've never heard anyone say that before and it's an interesting way of looking at things." He gets up from the couch.

"Come, let's have dinner. Mrs. Jones prepared one of her specialties, beef stroganoff. I think that's what put me in the mood for Rachmaninov."

When we get to the table, I sit down and he brings out a plate from the refrigerator. Oh my! Our appetizer is Beluga caviar! I haven't had this in ages and it makes my mouth water just to look at it. We indulge ourselves with just the right amount, complete with sour cream and triangle toast. It's a fitting introduction to our entreé, which is absolutely delicious. While we eat he talks about the time he was in Russia; he was there shortly after starting his business, trying to work out some deal. It didn't pan out but he did enjoy the trip; there's quite an active BDSM community there, and he joked that many of them are probably ex-KGB.

Dessert is napoleons and I'm sure that's either Master's or Mrs. Jones's little joke. When we're finished, I clear the table and start the dishwasher. Master's been watching while I do this and as I start to leave the kitchen he asks, "Are you sure you're up to this tonight?"

"Yes, Sir," I reply with no hesitation.

"Very well, be ready in ten minutes," and in a flash, he's back to Dom mode. The change is so quick it's almost palpable.

I'm ready and in position in way less than ten minutes. Master enters the room and immediately orders me to stand. He puts his index finger under my chin and tilts my head up. He looks into my eyes for a long time, as if he's in some kind of internal debate, before finally saying, "I'm sure I can come up with a suitable penance for you, Ms. Thibodeaux."


End file.
